


September

by MilkTeaMiku



Series: A Year of Writing [9]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Doctor/Patient, Everyone Is Alive, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Mermaid Bilbo Baggins, Mpreg, Vampires, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:38:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 29,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkTeaMiku/pseuds/MilkTeaMiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One may find it easier to remember the moments in life, rather than the days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Throne Befitting A King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is both impressed and awed by Thorin's throne.

Finally taking the throne filled something in Thorin that had been empty for far too long.

Of course, having his company and his family and his One filling the halls he presided over was a feeling just as captivating. There was nothing more he liked than seeing his loved ones living out in relative peace.

(He said "relative" because there was nothing peaceful about his nephews, and no one had the heart to tell them off).

If Thorin were being entirely honest, he was rather surprised at how seamlessly his Hobbit fit into the environment at Erebor. He had many fears regarding Bilbo's health and wellbeing, especially when Dwarves began to return to the Lonely Mountain and fill all its crooks and crannies. 

But Bilbo functioned surprisingly well under the mountain. He didn't allow anyone to take advantage of him, and always managed to impress any Dwarf that had misconceptions about him. His agricultural skills and domestic knowledge made Erebor an easier place to live - not to mention his crops were very bountiful and always picked at their ripest, which of course had most Dwarves impressed with him regardless.

What better way to impress a Dwarf than through their stomach, after all?

Thorin was quite proud of his little treasure. There was no way to fault the Hobbit that he could not counter.

Still, Thorin had to admit that one of his favourite places in the entire palace (aside from in his bed with his One, of course) was on his throne. It sent a thrill of accomplishment through him, no matter how long he remained there listening to boring inquisitions or matters to do with business. 

He thought that Bilbo might like the throne, too. It certainly had caught his attention on several occasions - Thorin could recognise the curious glint in his consort's eyes anywhere, and he thought that it may have been because Bilbo had never seen anything like it.

Hobbits didn't have a monarchy, after all, they had no king and as such needed no signs of status or royalty like thrones and crowns. 

"Would you like to sit?" Thorin would often offer, to which Bilbo's cheeks would flush a pretty red and he would deny with several shakes of his head. It was a rather adorable look on him, if Thorin may say so, and while he loved to see his lover flustered in such a manner he often wondered why Bilbo always declined. 

He supposed Bilbo would tell him when he was comfortable. There wasn't much they hid from one another, now, but sometimes embarrassment made Bilbo go shy. Especially when it had to do with something he thought may have been above his status, Thorin found, even though Bilbo was technically as high-ranking as Thorin (particularly if Thorin had anything to say about it, anyway). 

"You know, you're allowed to sit there." Thorin says one time, as they walk along the suspended walkway out of the throne hall. "It is your place, as well."

Bilbo flushes, even the tips of his pointed ears turning red as he made flustered gestures with his hands. "It's not- really, it's-"

And he couldn't say anymore, even as Thorin chuckled at him. Sometimes Bilbo was still an enigma to him, something to still unwrap and explore, something to discover something completely unknown and unexpected in. He thought that this was just another one of those discoveries, just another little chapter to add to whatever story their lives happened to be weaving.

It would resolve itself, eventually.

He just didn't expect it to resolve itself when it did.

It was after a long day of negotiations and political delegations that Thorin realised he hadn't seen Bilbo in a few hours. Typically, he flittered in and out between the meetings, and he often sat in on them (as was required of him as the royal consort).

If he did not, however, and it was the last scheduled meeting of the day then Bilbo would wait to accompany Thorin to dinner (or vice versa, if Bilbo was busy in the plant nursery or crop fields). Today, however, his little treasure was no where to be seen, and no one knew where to find him.

Thorin wasn't too worried. Erebor was the safest place for Bilbo to be, and he knew his way around exceptionally well. Bilbo wouldn't have left Erebor's vicinity without informing him, either, so he must have gotten distracted by something, Thorin thought.

His guessed that the most obvious place for Bilbo to become distracted with would be the throne hall. Maybe his Hobbit was finally inspecting the throne itself? He chuckled at the thought, and felt a tad more little-hearted.

Of course, finding Bilbo to actually be in the throne hall was still a tad surprising.

He was seated on the throne - though Thorin supposed _slouched_ would of been a better word, considering the relaxed way Bilbo was lounging. 

He looked good there. Seeing his consort in such a position on such an important seat had a twang of arousal coursing through him, though he would not act on it for now.

"Comfortable?" He asked.

Bilbo startled at his echoing voice, but upon seeing no one other than Thorin, he offers nothing more than a weak smile. "Not particularly. It's quite hard." He pats a hand on the armrest, swinging his feet down to touch the floor.

Thorin grins as he strolls closer. "It's quite a becoming look on you." He compliments, allowing his eyes to fall across Bilbo's dishevelled shirt and the exposed slants of his collarbone. 

Bilbo flushes, looking lost for words as he fixes his shirt and stands.

Thorin just grins wider, and shuffles Bilbo into his arms before taking his seat back. "I think you suit it." He says charmingly, even as Bilbo squirms on his lap as though he were truly embarrassed. 

Bilbo huffs, still red-cheeked. "Hardly." He says. "You look much more handsome than I do on this monstrous thing."

Thorin chuckles, pressing his nose against Bilbo's cheek affectionately. "Do you like sitting here? Tell me the truth."

Bilbo bites his lip, but nods, eyes fixed to the side. "It's oddly empowering." He says.

"It is." Thorin agrees. 

"I feel so high up, too." Bilbo laughs to himself.

Thorin smiles, and reaches up a hand to pull off his crown. He settles it on Bilbo's curls, tilting it back just a little so that it does not fall into his Hobbit's eyes. "This does the trick, too."

"Thorin-" Bilbo admonishes, reaching up to touch the crown. He's silent for a moment. "It's heavier than I expected." He finally says. 

Thorin laughs. "You get used to it!" He explains. "You look like a King."

Bilbo snorts. "I hardly compare to you." He says, resting in Thorin's grip. "You're much more comfortable than the throne."

Thorin laughs again. "Oh, I am, am I?"

Bilbo grins. _"Much_ more comfortable." He says, adjusting the crown once more as he rests his head on Thorin's shoulder comfortably. "I don't think I could ever get used to this. It's like a new adventure, every day!"

"I hope that is a good thing."

"Oh, it is!" Bilbo nods, smiling. "I've grown rather fond of adventures..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by Meg_Thilbo~
> 
> Welcome to another month! ^//w//^


	2. Starry Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin sees the world through the lens of a camera, but Bilbo is an enigma of an otherworldly type.

Wincing, Bilbo stretched his arm across the wide canvas, changing his stance. It was near impossible to carry on his own, and as he looked up at the arts department he felt nothing but frustration.

Still, he marched on, keeping his works tucked under his arms as tightly as he could without fear of bending or marking the canvas. Gingerly, he edged in through the doorway, huffing as the tail end of his canvas finally inched through. 

Now he just had to pile it all into the elevator - quite a challenging prospect, he found, as he stared and frowned at the tiny compartment with a furrow in his brow. 

The click of a camera had him startling.

A tall man lowered his camera away from his face to stare down at Bilbo - he was a photography student, Bilbo decided, considering how expensive the camera looked (and the fact that he was certainly not an arts student... Bilbo would have remembered someone so attractive).

"Need some help?"

Well, Bilbo certainly wasn't going to decline assistance. Instead, he smiled shyly, and nodded.

"I'm Thorin." The man says, carefully taking the canvas from Bilbo's arm to help him prop it against the wall of the elevator. "Sorry for startling you."

"It's alright." Bilbo says, offering his hand. "Bilbo."

Thorin gave him a charming smile. "It's nice to meet you."

 

Bilbo's studio space was wide and brightly lit. As an honours student, he'd been given the space to carry out his majors in peace. It was very helpful, he thought, and he quite liked the atmosphere it provided him.

As such, he'd decorated it according - potted plants and hanging terrariums filled the windowsills and covered the messy tabletops. One wall had been completely repainted to mimic Van Gogh's _"Starry Night"_ hand painted by Bilbo. 

Thorin was rather enamoured with it, Bilbo thought. He stared for a while, taking in the room and all it's little personal imperfections with an inquisitive eye that Bilbo pegged had developed through the lens of a camera. 

Thorin had a major, himself, it seemed. 

"Do you mind if I take photos of you while you work?" Thorin asked, one hand still gripping his camera even though it was secured by a cord looped around his neck. 

"I don't mind."

He really didn't. Bilbo got very immersed in his work, and he generally didn't notice other people around him - they weren't a distraction, to put it simply.

The first time, they sat in silence. Bilbo crouched on the floor, leaning across his canvas with a brush in his hand and paints scattered on pallets and the lids of ice-cream containers covering the floor. 

Thorin remained seated on a chair, one leg crossed over the other, camera in his lap. He just watched, eyes following the movements of the brush.

He didn't take any pictures.

 

The second time, Bilbo had migrated across the room, to another piece. He was already an hour into it when Thorin came up, dressed as stylishly as before with his camera in hand.

"I brought tea." He says, placing the cup down beside Bilbo as he takes his place on the seat again. "I guessed how many sugars you like."

Curious, Bilbo lifted the cup to his lips. It was sweet. "Three?"

Thorin nods.

Odd, very odd...

But just how he liked it.

 

The first time Thorin took a photo was the next time he joined Bilbo. He had his hair pulled up into a bun that day - it was distractingly attractive, Bilbo found.

"What's your major about?" Thorin asks, wandering over to take a seat beside Bilbo on the concrete. 

Bilbo hummed, and explained it as best as he could. There were many pieces to it, so he ended up talking for quite some time- 

He didn't even realise when he'd stopped talking about the major and started talking about anything else. He hadn't even stopped painting - hardly felt it when Thorin lifted a hand to tuck a curl behind his ear, then take a picture. 

 

Thorin often joined him on the floor, after that. It couldn't have been comfortable - Bilbo often had bruised knees and bones cacking that probably shouldn't have been cracking, but Thorin never once complained.

He took photos when Bilbo wasn't quite expecting it - once, when Bilbo was watching ink drip into his water jar, another time when Bilbo was stretched across his painting, reaching to the furthest corner to apply colour, and yet again when Bilbo was tired and a little cranky and wiping paint from the back of his hand onto his forehead and cheeks without realising it. 

"What's your major about?" Bilbo asked, one day, when he was standing and stretching from his crouched position. 

"It's a process." Thorin shrugged an elegant (and surprisingly broad) shoulder. 

Bilbo hummed in reply, turning his head to the side contemplatively.

The click of the camera draws his attention, but Thorin was already glancing down at the screen. "Your wall photographs so well." He says. "You look really small."

Bilbo turned back to glance at the painted sky. "I suppose that's the point."

 

Sometimes, being so immersed in his art making was detrimental.

The bruises, for one, were sort of uncomfortable. 

"It's because I sit on the ground." Bilbo says as a way of explanation when Thorin catches him wincing. He draws his knees in close, and rolls up a pant leg. "I've got a lot of bruises."

They varied in colour, and size, but they patterned his knees and sometimes his elbows quite dominantly. 

Thorin takes a photo of him like that, crunched up and covered in paint with one pant leg rolled up. 

Other times, Bilbo would dip his paintbrush into his drink by mistake. That could easily be fixed by drinking out of a cup with a lid, but on other occasions, he would reach for the dirty water jar by mistake.

That was no so easily fixed, he found, even with a mouthful of foul tasting water to warn him not to be so careless again.

But since Thorin had come to join him, the man would gently touch his hand when he reached for the water jar, and without a word Bilbo would be reminded not to drink from it by mistake. It was a small gesture of care, something to say _"don't do this."_

Thorin took a photo of him with his hand around the jar, too. 

 

One time, Bilbo didn't paint. 

It was storming outside, so the lighting wasn't good. Instead, he curled up by the window, watching the dark clouds and the rain that pelted against the window. 

Thorin joined him that day, too. 

He came to sit beside Bilbo at the window, watching the storm and holding his hand and sharing a cup of lukewarm tea that had paint stains on the handle. 

He didn't bring his camera that day.


	3. You Can't Wake Up, This Is Not A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a monster in his room.

"Bilbo? Are you alright?"

"'M fine." He mumbled bitterly, tucked away under his pillows and his mountain of blankets where the sun couldn't reach.

Thorin's weight depressed the mattress as he sat down beside the lump of quilts. The heaviness of his hand on Bilbo's hip was as comforting as it was exposing. "Feeling okay?"

"Just tired."

He was always just tired.

He wondered when Thorin would realise it was a lie.

"Alright." Thorin reluctantly answered, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of the blanket above Bilbo's head as though his lips could touch Bilbo's tangled hair. "I'll check on you in another half-an-hour, yeah? I love you."

Bilbo didn't answer. 

 

There was a monster hiding in Bilbo's room.

It wasn't any kind of monster, either. It was horrific - Bilbo hated it more than anything. He didn't think it was so bad on the inside, but on the outside it was utterly hideous and splotchy and _ugly._

The thing was misshapen, with too much flesh in areas that should have been smooth and shapely. It bulged around it's centre, no matter which way it stood, and just the mere sight of it made Bilbo cringe. Its skin was pale and marred by what he expected was the sun - bits around it's face and across the tops of its legs were red, while it's veins marked thinner parts of skin an ugly blue, like rivers that were once bountiful but were now drained and straining.

Its face was probably the thing Bilbo despised the most.

Its eyes were hollow and bland, despite being a colour that was probably beautiful when the creature was different. Dark, sunken circles gave the creature a terrifyingly deficient look - it's nose was the wrong shape, it's eyes too thin, it's chin to big.

Worst of all, Bilbo always saw the monster when he looked into the mirror.


	4. Sea Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has a fascination for sea glass.

Bilbo liked collecting sea glass. It floated into Bag-End every now and then, and made beautiful decorations around doorframes and table legs when placed together in neat, geometric shapes. 

He liked shells, too, and bottles that the land-walkers often dropped over the edges of their sailing boats. They were more easy to come by, however, so it was the sea glass that truly fascinated him. 

Of course, his fascination was often a downfall, too.

It was like that for most of his kind, though - there was always _something_ that they could be easily lured with. Primula just loved land-walker cutlery, particularly the ones with rounded edges, and Bilbo once knew a boy who rather enjoyed the scales of a brightly coloured fish that only swam through the Shire once a year. For Bilbo, it was the glass.

Unfortunately, it also happened to be the glass that coaxed him _out_ of the Shire. That, and the rather handsome face attached to it. 

It was the meddling wizard Gandalf that revealed Bilbo's secret to the pirate, Thorin Oakenshield, he just knew it. 

A _navigator_ they called him. Granted, Bilbo was very knowledgeable of the ocean, particularly in the matter of what exactly was happening under it's surface, but he still didn't understand why Gandalf thought Bilbo could help Thorin.

Of course, he did it for the sea glass. 

And oh, was it beautiful. Thorin had quite the arrangement, in a variety of colours that Bilbo greatly favoured. 

The pirate didn't really understand Bilbo's fascination with it. As the journey progressed, with Bilbo leading the ship safely through the reefs from the water, the pirate and his crew slowly adjusted to Bilbo's strange habits.

His endless fascination for the sea glass was just one of them.

Thorin asked him about it, one night, when Bilbo sat with his tail against the side of the ship.

Bilbo had shrugged, offering Thorin a grin that showed off his dainty canine teeth. "I'm not sure, myself. My mother loved coins, and my father loved handkerchiefs, so I didn't get it from them... but it's so pretty, you know?" He lifted a piece he kept in a small bag around his waist up to watch the moon through it.

Thorin was slowly bribing him with pieces, so he only had a few from the collection Thorin had first showed him, but he didn't mind. 

Thorin had another piece in his hand. He twisted it around a few times, running his fingers over the smooth edges. "I much prefer gold, myself." He said, before flinging it through the air for Bilbo to snatch up.

He did so with another toothy grin, pocketing it. "I like to think it's recompense for our voices." He told Thorin.

"Your voice?"

"Those stories about sea creatures luring sailors to their watery deaths aren't exactly made up, you know." Bilbo had replied. "Not that I've ever done it myself, despite being half-Took. It's the riffraff up north that do it a lot, but that's not to say I can't, either."

Thorin had just hummed. He likely believed Bilbo wouldn't cause any harm to him or his crew - he was right, so Bilbo was unoffended. 

"What do you do with it all?" Thorin asked him, another time.

"Oh, many things!" Bilbo had exclaimed. "I arrange it all and set it into my doorframes, or down table legs... If it fits together well, they make great, coloured windows. Sea glass is perfect for decorating!"

"I expected you to make it into jewellery."

"I would if I could." Bilbo sighed. "I'm not that skilled, unfortunately! Wouldn't it be great to be able to _wear_ it?" He got shivers just thinking about it. 

There were lots of things Bilbo learned during the journey. Eventually he was doing things without the need for sea glass to be handed over, and he rather enjoyed Thorin's company (which had nothing to do with the fact that he was stunningly handsome, for a pirate). 

Falling in love was something that was difficult for Bilbo. Even if he didn't intentionally lure people it, it was hard to tell if they were being truthful or if he was accidentally and unknowingly influencing them. 

It took a long time for anything to happen, but then Thorin became... persistent.

Convincingly so. 

Of course, Thorin had then gone and presented him with a handmade circlet inlaid with the most beautiful shards of sea glass Bilbo had seen in a very long time, claiming it a courting gift...

Thorin had just become something else for Bilbo to become fascinated in, after that.

Not that the pirate seemed to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to ask this since July, probably, but what exactly is a sentinel/guide AU? I've read it many times, but it's not connecting in my head, haha~ ^^"


	5. Some Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner doesn't begin until Thorin arrives home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili/Fili/Bilbo/Thorin implied

For what it was worth, Bilbo had become very perceptive when the line of Durin had decided to invade his personal space and take over quite a large portion of his life.

For instance, even with Fili pressed against his back, he could still tell Kili was trying to steal food off the table.

"Don't you dare." He says, smiling when he hears Kili's startled noise. 

"How did you know?" Kili whines, huffing as he wanders over to peer across Bilbo's shoulder. "It's like you've got eyes in the back of your head!"

"He doesn't." Fili mumbles cheerfully, rubbing his nose through Bilbo's curls. "I'd see them if they existed." 

Kili huffs, wiggling his way under Fili's arm to plaster himself against Bilbo's side. "I'm hungry."

"Not much longer now." Bilbo reassures him. "We'll eat when your Uncle finally shows up."

Fili sighs, his breath puffing warm against the back of Bilbo's head. His arms, thick around Bilbo's waist, tighten comfortably. Bilbo pats his hand.

He didn't know what it was, but sometimes the both of them got rather affectionate with him for no feasible reason. Bilbo had come to recognise their patterns - Kili did not like storms, and would curl up in Bilbo's arms if there happened to be one raging. He disliked the cold, too, though he more often sought out Thorin for immediate warmth.

Fili, on the other hand, seemed prone to bouts of underhanded stress or lethargy in which he would do nothing but grip Bilbo by the waist or the sleeves or the hand. It didn't happen often, because he was quite the sturdy person, but sometimes he got overwhelmed and wanted to be spoiled with attention.

Bilbo was surprised to find that Thorin, too, had the same tendencies. While he was much older and therefore much more mature than all three of them, there were times he would wake Bilbo in the night to be held, or when he would stare off into the distance for a little too long and Bilbo would go to him without a word. 

Still, Bilbo hardly minded. There was always a comforting face at the ready when he woke from his night terrors, after all. 

"Now off you two, go take a seat." Bilbo instructed. "I'll be over in a moment."

Kili pressed a swift kiss to his cheek, and moved across to their dining table. Fili was more reluctant, but Bilbo coaxed him over with gentle hands, and he too took a seat.

Thorin was often late to dinner - he had many important tasks to oversee, after all, so Bilbo was never truly miffed by it. 

Tonight, however, he was placing down the last plateful of food on the table when the Dwarven King wandered in through the door, dressed in his regal armour and cloak. His nephews chirped out enthusiastic greetings (well, that was mostly Kili) before Thorin could even sit.

Bilbo chuckled at their behaviour, and accepted the embrace Thorin offered him. "Hungry?" He asks, smiling.

Thorin gives him a sort of relieved look that makes Bilbo's heart flutter. 

His days may have been long and difficult, but Bilbo liked to think coming home was as pleasing enough to balance it out.


	6. A Matter Of Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo contemplates his family.

Bilbo sighs, letting his fingers idly shift through Frodo's tangled locks as the sea breeze washes across his sun-tinged skin. 

Frodo was long since asleep, his thumb stuck in his mouth as he dozed on the beach lounge. Bilbo was sure he would have some trouble trying to get the toddler to sleep that night, but a midday nap was expected when one was at the beach. 

The sound of shifting sand made him glance up. 

Thorin, wet and covered in patches of damp sand, ducked under the shade of the wide umbrella to give Bilbo a charming grin. "Comfortable there, love?" He teases. 

Bilbo offers him a lazy grin. "Quite. Have fun swimming around in the ocean?"

"Quite." Thorin mimics, moving closer. "The boys are building a mote around your sandcastle."

Bilbo chuckles fondly. "Are they, now?"

Thorin grins too, and ducks down to press a kiss to Bilbo's forehead.

"Don't get me wet." Bilbo complains, though there is no bite in his voice. "Dry off and take a seat."

"Share yours?" Thorin asks, eyes wide and hopeful. 

Bilbo laughs, but nods his head. "If you wish!"

It only takes Thorin a minute to riffle around for a towel, and only a minute more to pull on a dry shirt and squirm his way onto the wooden lounge Bilbo occupied. 

Thorin's breath huffs warm and familiar as he lays his head in the crook of Bilbo's neck, slinging a thigh across both of Bilbo's in a careful, comfortable way. 

Bilbo lifts his free hand to tangle his fingers in Thorin's knotty hair. "It's a nice day today." He observes. 

Thorin hums, rubbing his cheek again Bilbo's chest. "I haven't felt so relaxed in quite a while."

Bilbo nods in agreement. Their marriage had come before Frodo's sudden arrival in their lives - that had been several years ago now, but it was hard to raise three children under seven years of age, especially when they were not biological parents, and newly married. 

Bilbo wouldn't change it for all the gold in the world, though. There was nothing he valued above his family - they were the treasures of his heart. Hearing their laughter, brushing away their tears, healing their bruises with tender hands and fighting away the monsters that lurked under beds and between sheets... It was his purpose to make them happy, and he would do whatever he could to do so. 

After all, they made him very happy in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went to watch a play at the Opera House tonight, so this is written and posted via mobile -- excuse any mistakes, I'm too exhausted to properly edit it~


	7. The Lull Of The Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin has to make friends with a Hobbit to find the Arkenstone.

"Thorin, how much farther until we round the cove?"

"Only a few more leagues." Thorin answers, glancing at his Quartermaster. "And will you not call me Captain? I am one, you now - and yours, no less."

Dwalin gives him a gruff look. "Aye aye, _Captain Thorin."_

Thorin winces, and turns away. "Never mind..." He mutters, ignoring Dwalin's vindictive smirk.

It didn't take all too long for their ship to round into the cove where a bustling port thrived along the shore. They'd been sailing for almost three months without restocking, so their supplies were running low. Money was an issue, so while they sailed into the port he started calculating how much they'd need, and how much they could afford.

Most of the monetary business he left to Gloin, but it was his job to oversee it. 

He sighed as he directed the ship into a vacant wharf. He wished he could find the Arkenstone quicker.

 

Gandalf had been the one to approach him regarding the ancient stone. The gem had long since been lost to the sea, never to be seen again - or at least, that would be the case if the wizard would quit his meddling.

"It's your destiny." Gandalf had told him. "You were meant to rule the Seas of Erebor, not sail around aimlessly on a boat as small as yours."

Thorin, rather put off by the vague insult, had vehemently denied wanting anything to do with the stone that had driven both his father and grandfather mad. They'd lost everything - their wealth, their kingdom, their family - to that wretched stone. He'd rather throw himself overboard than have it in his possession once more.

Alas, Gandalf had convinced him.

"What if someone else were to harness it's powers? What would you do then, Thorin Oakenshield?"

"How do you even know where it lays?" Thorin had demanded. "It was lost to the oceans more than two decades ago!"

Gandalf, after leaning forwards, had whispered, "A dear friend of mine uncovered it by accident. I do not wish for him to be harmed by it's lure, for if that were to happen, he would control all the oceans with nothing more than his breath."

This "friend" of Gandalf's concerned Thorin. It was true that the Arkenstone had powers that no one without the blood of Durin could safely control, but even so, being of his linage was not a failsafe - his father and grandfather were prime examples of the destruction the gem could harvest. 

Still, there was more of a chance of Thorin being able to control it than anyone else in the entire world.

 

"Your friend," Thorin starts, when Gandalf once again mysteriously appears on his vessel in the middle of the ocean, "Who is he?"

"His name is Bilbo Baggins." Gandalf tells him, clutching his pointed hat as a breeze stirs the sails. "He is quite a nice fellow, if you catch him at the right time."

"And how did he come across the gem?"

"Well, it seems that ocean floor currents guided it into his territory." Gandalf muses. "If it were any other of his kind, then the gem would have never been found, but Bilbo is quite inquisitive despite his better judgment."

Thorin eyes the wizard, frowning. He adjusts his grip on the rungs of the ship's wheel, holding it steady. "And what kind is he? You've neglected to say. Not a sailor, not a Dwarf, nor an Elf or a Man..."

"Well..." Gandalf glances away. "He's one you've unlikely heard of. Only the eldest of the Elves are likely to remember of their existence, but they are in the tales of Men."

Thorin narrows his eyes.

Gandalf gives him a placating sigh. "He's called a Hobbit, but Men have titled them as Merfolk. They live and thrive in the ocean, and have voices capable of luring even the most cautious of person to their deaths."

"You would have me sail my crew straight into the clutches of a murderer?" 

"Don't underestimate Bilbo, Thorin." Gandalf says. "Or me, for that matter. Bilbo has never killed - hardly a Hobbit ever does, anymore, less their Fauntlings are threatened. He'll help you control the stone more than you can understand."

 

Gandalf directed them to an obscure destination that no sailor dared to travel through. It was said that these waters were unlucky, and filled with the skeletons of wrecked ships that had fallen for no feasible reason.

Thorin understood that a little more, now, with Gandalf's tales of Hobbits.

"How do we contact him?" Thorin asks, glancing at Gandalf. It was night, and most of his crew were sleeping - they'd been sailing nonstop for at least a month to find this place. 

"He'll come." Gandalf says. "Even without young, a ship in his territory will draw his curiosity. Be patient - he's rather fond of the night sky, you see."

True to his word, when the clouds parted to reveal a glowing moon and its blanket of stars, the water over the side of the ship began to ripple. 

Gandalf moved across to the railing, and leaned right across it to peer into the ocean. "Bilbo, my friend - do come greet me!"

Thorin, although curious, waited until Gandalf's quiet murmurings to the Hobbit ceased and he was beckoned over before approaching. 

A head was peeking out from the water, skin pale and mottled with faint freckles that stretched down to bare, rounded shoulders. A mop of curly locks framed a cherubic face inset with a pair of bright, inquisitive eyes that looked up at the wall of the ship with a curiosity Thorin hadn't seen since his young nephews first stepped foot onto the vessel. 

"Bilbo, this is Thorin Oakenshield." Gandalf says. "He is the captain of this ship."

Bilbo's eyes fix on him, glinting with the reflection of the sea. 

He had pointed ears, Thorin noticed faintly.

"Now that introductions have been made," Gandalf says, "Shall we eat?"

 

_It makes no sense!_

"Did you not want me to take possession of the Arkenstone?" Thorin demands, glaring at Gandalf as Dwalin paces behind him restlessly. "We cannot sit in the middle of the ocean for longer than a week!"

"You will take possession of the stone." Gandalf answers firmly. "But you cannot just go in there and take it."

"Yes, I'll drown!" Thorin growls. "Why does he not bring it up?"

"I've told you." Gandalf argues. "If Bilbo were to have extended exposure to it, I fear he will fall under it's curse. He must not carry it such a distance! You will have to go get it-"

"That is impossible!"

"But it is not." Gandalf says. "Hobbits are halflings, and one half once was a user of _magic."_ He nods to himself, looking sure. "Bilbo can charm you into being able to breath underwater, but it is against a Hobbit's very nature to do so. You have to acquaint yourself with him, Thorin. He's already captivated with you, so stop doubting him. He can get you your Arkenstone, if you give him the chance."

 

The first time they spoke was during the night, when Bilbo had surfaced to watch the stars like Thorin found he did every night.

"Are those legs?"

Thorin had been rather perplexed by the question. "Of course they are."

"I've never seen legs before." Bilbo had told him, head turned to the side delicately. "Not this close, Gandalf always wears his robes."

Thorin sighs. He was sitting on a small ledge, usually used as a perch for cleaning the side of the ship, so that his legs could dangle into the water. "I don't suppose you have legs, then."

Bilbo offers him a toothy grin, showing off dainty, pointed canine teeth, as he leans back. His gently rounded stomach, face, and the curve of a scaled tail pop up above the water as he floats. "Not at all! Tails are much better." 

Thorin tries not to stare, but quickly gives in. He'd never seen anything quite so marvellous. 

 

It took several days and many conversations, but Thorin soon began to realise that he rather enjoyed spending time with Bilbo. The Hobbit would often arrive early in the morning with several limp fish clutched in his arms - he was restocking their food supplies regularly to extend their stay, Thorin thought.

Bilbo was rather intrigued with them. He was fascinated with the adornments Thorin wore - the beads in his hair, in particular, and the ring on his finger with the sign of Durin. Bilbo also liked Thorin's toes, though Thorin didn't quite enjoy having them prodded and poked at. 

Though he supposed he was just as fascinated with Bilbo's physique. His tail was long and plump, covered in scales that were a beautiful honey hue, mixed in with splashes of blue that blended like water. It was rather hypnotizing to watch Bilbo swim under the surface of the ocean to hydrate his skin between their conversations.

Bilbo's tail also had fins that Thorin thought were much like lace. They drifted in the currents and matched the colour of his tail, and were just as beautiful.

"Do you want to try breathing underwater?" Bilbo asks him one day.

Thorin startles at the question - he'd nearly forgotten about his entire purpose for being here, if he were honest. Still, he didn't hesitate to take Bilbo's hands and lower himself into the ocean.

"It might hurt." Bilbo tells him. "Or feel like your lungs are shrivelling up."

"Sounds pleasant." Thorin mutters, before Bilbo submerges them both. He screws his eyes shut at the onslaught of salty water, and was almost startled enough to not feel the sudden softness pressing against his lips.

He gasps, and immediately chokes on the water that floods his lungs. His entire chest burns with the strain for oxygen, and he thrashes, but hands stronger than his own pin him under the surface.

It felt like hours but could have only been minutes before a coolness fills his throat. He pants for air, twitching, but opens his eyes and finds that everything around him had turned utterly _clear._

Bilbo grins at him, looking mighty pleased with himself. He grips Thorin's hands to his chest tightly, tail brushing against Thorin's legs in a way that connotes a tone of _affection _that Thorin is not entirely adverse to.__

__"It worked!" Bilbo laughs. The sound of it had Thorin's heart hammering, because it sounds so much different underwater, so much purer and alluring._ _

__He really was quite the captivating creature._ _

__Bilbo tugs on his hands, pulling him further under the surface of the ocean invitingly. "Shall we go?" He offers, pausing - giving Thorin a moment to back out, if he so chooses._ _

__Instead, he smiles, feeling alight with excitement. "Let's go."_ _


	8. Ice Skating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo likes to skate.

Bilbo pulled his sweater on neater, tugging the hem half-heartedly as he waited by the ice rink for Thorin to finish strapping on his boots. "Coming, love?"

Thorin grumbles at him, but stumbles over, fishing for Bilbo's hand. 

Bilbo laughs at his antics, and gingerly leads him onto the ice. He had no trouble skating across the frosty surface, but Thorin wobbled, and clutched the railing with a tight grip.

"How did you do this for a living?" He demands. "What pleasure is there in this?"

Bilbo laughs again. "It's fun once you get the hang of it, I promise!"

Thorin gives him a doubtful look. "I'll just... go along here, for now." He mutters. "Can't I watch you instead?"

Bilbo's heart races at the thought of skating again. He hadn't done it in so long, not since he took charge of Frodo. He couldn't maintain the extensive hours of practice, the sometimes unexpected travelling and the risk of serious injury when he had such a precious child to look after.

He didn't regret leaving - he went to one Olympics, and returned with a bronze medal he hadn't quite expected. That was enough of an adventure for him. He was content with being an instructor, now. 

It was how he had met Thorin. The man's nephews, Kili and Fili, were in his classes, and were now the only serious students he mentored. He hadn't trained anyone professionally before them, hadn't wanted to - but it was something about them that was so enigmatic, he couldn't say no.

They would go to the Olympics, Bilbo was sure of it. 

Still, he took the opportunity to separate from Thorin's grip and glide across the ice. The chilly breeze was familiar and refreshing as he picked up speed - it was second nature to him, and he was thrilled to find that his body could still perform the twists and twirls like it once had.

Thorin looked pleased when Bilbo finally returns to his side. "You're wonderful." He says. "The videos don't do you justice."

Bilbo flushes, and grins. "I hardly did anything."

Thorin just shakes his head fondly, reaching for Bilbo's hands again. "I really can't understand how you do this, it's so amazing. I've never seen anything so physically demanding be made into something so effortless."

If possible, Bilbo's cheeks only got darker. 

Thorin just grins, and dips his head to press a warm kiss on Bilbo's lips. "Teach me how to skate properly." He says. "So that I can go with you."

Bilbo smiles, and takes his hands once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had zero motivation today, hmm... ^___T


	9. You Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No can do, love." Thorin tosses him over his shoulder. "You're my collateral."
> 
> "I'm not your love!" Bilbo cries. "Nor your collateral! Unhand me, you fool!"

Bilbo, as the son of a respected and wealthy author from a good family, was understandingly miffed when he was suddenly thrown into a completely unrespectable adventure without a say in the matter.

And it was all the fault of one Thorin Oakenshield.

"Really- If you would just hand my book back-" Bilbo pants as he's pulled down the winding streets of their small, port-side city. He spies his prized novella clutched in the brute's other hand, and makes a grab for it, but Thorin steers them around a corner and his grip falters. 

"No can do, love." Thorin tosses him over his shoulder. "You're my collateral."

"I'm not your love!" Bilbo cries. "Nor your collateral! Unhand me, you fool!"

Thorin doesn't answer him, and carries him down an alleyway as shouts and gunfire ricochet off the stone walls.

Bilbo goes to shout, but Thorin's hand clamps around his mouth as his thick arm pins Bilbo to the wall. He pants, eyes furious as he stares up at Thorin. He'd never met anyone so brutish! Not even for a criminal - and Bilbo knew he was one, too, he'd seen wanted posters for Thorin plastered all over the town's main square.

"What is the meaning of this?" Bilbo demands, yanking Thorin's hand away from his mouth. 

Thorin spares him a glance. His eyes are a startling dark blue that Bilbo hadn't expected. "Nothing against you personally, lad. Wrong place, wrong time."

"I'm not a lad." Bilbo sneers. "I dare say I'm not much your younger!"

Thorin glances him over deliberately, before snorting. "Unlikely."

Bilbo frowns harder. "If you must know, I'm twenty-three!"

Thorin's eyebrows shoot up. "With this baby-face?" He touches the side of Bilbo's face, looking doubtful. "You could hardly be older than thirteen."

Bilbo splutters. "Thirteen! Why, if that's the case, then you must be no younger than _fifty!"_

"Fifty!" Thorin gives him an incredulous look. "Do you need your eyes checked?"

"Do you?" Bilbo counters, sneering again.

Thorin glares down at him, and without warning, heaves Bilbo up over his shoulder.

Bilbo cries out in shock, and smacks a hand against the surprisingly solid planes of Thorin's back. "Put me down! Are you listening? I said put me down!"

"No." Thorin answers, his tone one of finality. He carries Bilbo kicking and thrashing out of the alleyway, and throws him into the back of a carriage as it careens wildly through the street.

Bilbo lands with a somewhat painful thud, and clambers to his feet only to be shoved back down by a rough hand.

"Go!" Thorin shouts to the driver. "You, sit." He commands Bilbo.

"Do you honestly think-" Bilbo starts, but the look Thorin gives him silences him. "I know you won't hurt me." He says, sinking back to the floor. 

"Oh? Do you?" Thorin challenges.

"You never hurt anyone." Bilbo returns. "Your wanted posters say so. You steal, you break and enter, and you do everything you can to bother the authorities, but you don't kill anyone."

"Have you been reading into me, Mr Baggins?" Thorin purrs, leaning closer. "You seem to know an awful lot..."

Bilbo huffs indignantly. "As much as I hate to break your fragile ego, I'm afraid that's a rather astounding _no._ My _wonderful_ cousin, Lobelia, on the other hand-" He grins at the way Thorin turns his nose up, because everyone in the town knew who Lobelia was (and not for the right reasons), "Absolutely _loves_ a bad boy." 

Thorin's face scrunches up more, if possible, as he leans back. He absently flips open Bilbo's book, but doesn't seem to find it so interesting.

"Give that back!" Bilbo says, reaching for the book. "It's mine!"

Thorin snaps it shut, and holds it above his head. "Oh, a private matter, hmm? How intriguing."

Bilbo glowers. "Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

"No, she's dead." Thorin says, opening the book once more. 

"Well," Bilbo starts, leaning back against the seat, because he wasn't going to apologize, "I suppose that's one thing we have in common." 

Thorin glances at him curiously, and relaxes against the carriage seat. He looks rather cocky, which frustrates Bilbo to no end, but no more so than the grin Thorin knowingly gives him.

"Shall we get to know each other a little better, then, Mr Baggins?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 250, I think~ (๑•́ω•̀๑)


	10. You Fool Pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is still a fool.

Bilbo purses his lips as he peers at the small courtyard. It was his _favourite_ place to read, no other spot would ever really do.

Of course, it was the place Thorin Oakenshield kidnapped him from, too.

The _first_ time.

 _Really, the man needs another hobby._

Bilbo huffs to himself, and shakes away his thoughts. Brazenly, he strolls into the garden and heads straight for his little bench, where there was a soft cushion already in place and a perfect amount of sunlight for reading. He sits, and opens the book (one less decidedly favoured after the _first_ kidnapping - he was deigned not to suffer that flavour of trauma again, thank you very much).

Still, it was quite odd when he finished not one, but three complete chapters without so much of a peep from some crook. They were usually all over the place, following Bilbo like a rotten stench, no matter where he went. Even here, in his father's most private courtyard, there would always be someone lurking in the shadows of the great oak trees, watching him from where they believed he could not see.

He could, of course, see them. He was more perceptive than they gave him credit for. 

However, it was still rather odd. He shut the book, and stood, suspiciously watching the line of trees as he wandered back inside. He was busy shutting the doors when a hand touched his shoulder, making him jump with a shocked cry.

"Bilbo, it's just me." His father, Bungo, chuckles as he observes his son with careful eyes.

Bilbo presses a hand to his heart. "Don't frighten me like that." He says, breathing out. "You've got to stop sneaking up on me, I thought-"

Bungo raises an eyebrow carefully. "Thought...?" He prompts, but when no reply comes forth, he chuckles again. "Ah, you thought I were someone else. A kidnapper, perhaps?"

Bilbo flushes horribly, and scowls. "No."

A small smile touches his father's face. "It's only happened seven times, now, by my count." Bungo teases. "What's an eighth?"

"Should you not be more concerned?" Bilbo asks, agape. "I am your only child."

Bungo touches his face gently, petting his cheek. "Yes, my dear, and I know you very well." He turns, looking rather jovial, and throws over his shoulder, "If he's going to keep coming around to clamour for your attention so, make sure you marry him!"

"Father!" Bilbo gasps, exasperated, ears burning, but Bungo had already disappeared down the corridor. 

 

Of course, the eighth time did roll around, and when Bilbo was seated in the carriage across a smug looking Thorin he couldn't help but think of what his father had said.

"Father says that if you wish to keep kidnapping me you might as well marry me." Bilbo blurts out.

Thorin startles at his words, looking somewhat perplexed. "Why would you want that?"

Bilbo flushes, and turns his glare to the side. He rubs the seat of the carriage absently. "This _is_ a nice carriage..."

A slow grin starts to curl across Thorin's lips. "Oh? Is that the only reason you would wed me, for my transport?"

Bilbo tentatively shrugs a shoulder.

Thorin leans closer, peering at him closely. "Hmm, Bilbo? Any other reasons?"

Bilbo scowls harder. "Maybe..."

Thorin grins wider. "Do go on, and _maybe_ I'll accept your proposal."

"Is your ego not already large enough?" Bilbo sneers. "You'll not be able to fit your head through the door."

"I don't mind."

Bilbo huffs. "You're an idiot."

"And?"

"A criminal!"

_"And?"_

"Possibly quite handsome." Bilbo mutters sourly.

Thorin chuckles victoriously, and jolts across to press himself now against Bilbo's lap, crowding him in. "Oh, how your words make me swoon." He taunts, running his fingers through Bilbo's hair in an attempt to dishevel it. "I suppose I'll have to accept your proposal, shan't I?"

"Oh, don't feel obligated." Bilbo snorts, crossing his arms. "I'm sure Lobelia will still have you, lest I don't."

Thorin shivers, and ducks his head down to nose along Bilbo's jaw. "I'd _much_ rather have you." He states, grinning. "Have you in all senses of the word."

Bilbo flushes, and rolls his eyes. "You're a fool."

"Yes, but I'm going to be your fool."

Bilbo glances at Thorin, feeling something stiff in his chest begin to unravel. In a moment of pure weakness, he leans forwards and presses a soft kiss to Thorin's cheek. "I suppose you will be." He whispers.


	11. Seems Irresponsible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cold of Erebor's corridors, no matter how magnificent, did absolutely _nothing_ for an ill Hobbit.

The cold of Erebor's corridors, no matter how magnificent, did absolutely _nothing_ for an ill Hobbit.

Bilbo found that Thorin could get rather frazzled when he was ill. The first winter in Erebor he'd gotten a cold, and Thorin had been mad with worry while Bilbo recuperated. It wasn't anything unusual for a Hobbit to become ill during winter, but it was exceedingly uncommon for grown Dwarves, so Bilbo could understand Thorin's worry.

Nevertheless, he did get rather... excessive, sometimes. 

Shirking off his duties to stay by Bilbo's side for the duration of his illness was just one of those excessive moments.

"Thorin, are you sure you can do this?" Bilbo asks, voice hoarse. "It seems irresponsible."

Thorin hums, rubbing Bilbo's stomach soothingly after he adjusts the bed sheets again. "It is nothing to worry yourself over, âmralimê." He says. "Taking care of my One will always come before duties that can easily be postponed or solved by Balin."

"I can't say I approve..." Bilbo murmurs. "But I'm glad you're here." 

Thorin presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, and settles against him more heavily. His weight is warm and comforting. "I wouldn't leave you like this." He assures. "You're the most important thing to me, and I can't help but worry about you when you are ill. You do much the same, love."

Bilbo chuckles weakly. "I suppose I do." He concedes, turning his face into the familiar crook of Thorin's neck, where his long hair curtains Bilbo's face and his natural scent is the strongest. 

Thorin smooths his hand down Bilbo's side. "You should get some rest." He coaxes. "Oin's medicine will have cleared your headache by the time you wake." 

Bilbo nods, lifting a hand to grip Thorin's loose shirt gently, almost without realising - it was something he often did, and he thought it might have stemmed from the fear of waking up without Thorin there and breathing. "Alright."

Thorin breathes in the scent of his hair, and his hand begins to press soothing circles into Bilbo's stomach once more. He murmurs something in Khuzdul that Bilbo isn't quite awake enough to catch, but it's something soft and loving that makes Bilbo smile.

Thorin worries too much, yes, but Bilbo doesn't mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was my last full week of school, ahh~ I have one more full day on Monday, then a few days of activities and finally graduation next Thursday~ I also got accepted for an interview at my first choice University for early entry, today, so that was good~ a favourite teacher of mine threw our class a party and gave us all little personal messages in bottles, it was so sweet ^////^ Today was a good day, finally! 
> 
> Alas, I have hit another slump of ideas - meaning, I am grasping at straws ^_____T 
> 
> So, feel free to send me suggestions, if you would like! Here or on tumblr is fine~ ^^


	12. A Party For Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo and Kili share a birthday.

Bilbo's sweet little nephew, Frodo, was born on the same day as his husband's youngest nephew, Kili. They were three years apart, with Kili at six-turning-seven, so they weren't at the stage were they would prefer separate parties.

Still, organising a party for two little boys on the same day was rather stressful. Thorin, who was generally quite organised, had absolutely no idea what to do or where to start, so it was left up to Bilbo to organise everything.

Bilbo knew that Frodo loved sailors, and all things nautical. He didn't know why, but Frodo did love the beach, and his favourite movie was _"Finding Nemo."_ Fortunately, Kili loved pirates, so the theme for the party was relatively easy to make happen.

Bilbo had first sent out invitations after organising dates and times. The kids had given them out to their friends at their schools, and Bilbo was rather pleased to find that his boys were elated at the pirate-themed invitations that he'd made.

Next was decorations. Anchors and pirate flags and fake plastic swords were laid out around every inch of their home on the day of the party while Dis, Thorin's sister, took the kids out of the home so that it would be a surprise. Dis was also getting the boys dressed in their respective costumes - Kili and Fili as pirates (Kili had the appointed Pirate-hat, though, because it was his birthday) and Frodo in a blue-and-white sailor's costume complete with a hat of his own.

Bilbo had laid out all of the pre-made food along the table on the back porch. Most of it was themed, too - cupcakes and cookies decorated in icing, for instance, and other little party foods that all the kids would surely enjoy. 

Bilbo had asked Thorin to put up balloons, as well as nautical themed bunting and "happy birthday" signs. The two of them had decorated the tree house Thorin build for the boys as a pirate ship earlier that day, complete with a steering wheel, rope-netting thrown across the balcony and a pirate flag.

Everything was going right.

Then it wasn't.

Bilbo suffered from hay fever, and as it was the start of spring, he often got really sick after being outside without taking antihistamines. Of course, he forgot that morning in the rush of it all, and only remembered to take them after decorating the tree house.

"Thorin, you've got to bake their cake." Bilbo sniffled, frustrated as he slumped across the arm of the couch. "The medicine won't work in time for me to finish it before everyone arrives."

Thorin gives him a stricken look, appearing antsy. "Bilbo, you _know_ I can't cook."

Bilbo sneezes violently, and groans as he dabs at his watery eyes with a tissue. "I'm just going to rest here for a minute." He whimpers, brushing away Thorin's soothing hands. "I'll direct you from here!"

Thorin groans, but obediently moves into the kitchen. "It's a cake from a box, right?"

Bilbo snorts.

Thorin lets out a strangled noise. "Oh my god, why do you have to set such high standards?"

"Just get the ingredients out!" Bilbo calls. "The recipe is next to the sugar jar, and for the love of god don't mix it up with salt again."

"That was _one_ time!"

"Three, actually!"

 

Thorin couldn't cook - everyone who knew him knew that. Dis had been so relieved when Thorin had married Bilbo, because it meant at least one person in the house was "capable of functioning at an adult level" as she so eloquently put it.

Bilbo knew that his husband wasn't the best cook, but he'd been getting better. He often made the kid's breakfast when Bilbo was running late, and didn't hesitate to pack their lunches like he once did.

Still, Bilbo came to find that baking a cake from scratch was pushing Thorin's limits.

Even with Bilbo walking him through the process, the amount of noise coming from the kitchen surely couldn't be a good sign. 

When Bilbo managed to heave himself out of the couch, feeling his hay fever beginning to reside at the medicine took affect, it was only to walk into a rather filthy kitchen!

He let out a startled noise, taking in the sight of his frazzled husband. Thorin had some sort of batter smeared across his cheek and in his hair, and he was absolutely covered in flour. 

"I dropped the bag." Thorin offers. "I think I got the cake done."

Bilbo peers at the batter, and winces. "Thorin is that an egg shell?"

Thorin glances at it, and lets out a frustrated groan. 

"It's lumpy..." Bilbo sighs, as he dips his finger in it. "As long as it tastes fine... Thorin, you used the _salt again!"_

 

Bilbo took charge of baking the second cake, and while he would usually do it himself, Thorin had to assist him. He didn't want to end up sneezing in the batter, so after he mixed all the ingredients he got Thorin to watch over it and pour it into the cake tin. Once that was done, he set Thorin to making the icing under Bilbo's careful watch, while Bilbo started cleaning up. 

It took half the time it normally would, but with the delays they only had a short amount of time to tidy up the house and get changed themselves. Neither of them wore anything more than comfortable clothes, but Bilbo had to help clean Thorin's hair, which was thick enough to case a little trouble. 

Still, eventually they were prepared, and then the party began.

 

Bilbo was exhausted by the time they cut the cake (of which was beautifully decorated - all lumps hidden with blue icing, topped with pirates and sailors and edible glitter).

Frodo sat on his lap as he opened his presents, grinning around the forkfuls of cake Bilbo periodically fed him. Thorin was standing behind Kili, Fili tucked under his arm. It was this sort of bonding time that Bilbo always enjoyed the most, when it was just them in their lovely home together.

"This tastes really good!" Frodo exclaims, grinning cheekily as he directs the fork in Bilbo's hand to his mouth. 

"Your Da made it." Bilbo tells him. "Not Papa."

Frodo turns his big blue eyes up at Thorin, staring adoringly.

Thorin looked rather flustered, which made Bilbo chuckle. They'd lived together for so long, but Thorin still couldn't get used to Frodo's unbridled adoration for him. It was heart-warming, Bilbo thought.

"Happy birthday, boys." Bilbo says, smiling at the grin Kili enthusiastically shoots him. 

Thorin smiles at the sight, and lifts a hand to grip Bilbo's shoulder fondly. "Happy birthday, boys."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, LittleNori! 
> 
> This is a bit of a crossover of similar suggestions I got from LittleNori, DrBDamned and THE_PirpleShirt~


	13. Into The Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is a satyr, and is very protective of his den and his forest.
> 
> He does not appreciate when Dwarves wander too close.

Bilbo's forest was a wonderful place. Called The Shire by most folk, it was tucked away in a little corner of a map between a great mountain range that formed a wide, disconnected circle between the forests, the ocean and the rest of civilisation. 

The Shire was the best Hobbit forest territory, Bilbo thought. It had his little den, called Bag-End, and was visited discreetly by the Brandywine creek. There were hardly ever any visitors (besides gossipy relatives and the odd, kooky wizard that often stumbled through) and Bilbo was sure that produce grew best in his magnificent gardens - especially tomatoes.

As such, Bilbo was rather protective of his Shire. He, like most Hobbits, was gifted with beautiful hoofed legs and delicately pointed ears that gave him the ability to traverse the terrain and keep a keen look out for unwelcome intruders. Many folk likened Hobbits to goats - somewhat insulting, Bilbo thought, because they were much more beautiful, but he supposed it wasn't completely unfounded.

Truthfully, they were Halflings. Half human (though much shorter in stature), and half something else. Thrums of magic once streamed through their blood, modifying their lower bodies, but much of it had all bled out by now. Hobbits didn't need magic anymore, but that didn't mean they couldn't defend themselves - hooves were rather powerful, and good for running, not to mention a Hobbit's forest could become rather... _befuddling,_ if a Hobbit so desired.

Maybe their magic hadn't truly disappeared, but they didn't use whatever it was often. 

Still, it was rather concerning when travellers did, in fact, wander into his woods. There was no conceivable way for them to travel this far into Hobbiton if they were not either utterly lost or searching for Bilbo's territory specifically. 

Bilbo was huffing and scowling furiously when the travellers got too close to his den. That was one place no one but him and any future mates or Fauntlings he may have should ever go, and although he was tempted to lead them off the track or inflict deliriousness on their minds, he refrained. 

That is, until he heard the name "Gandalf" floating on their conversation.

_So that meddling fool sent them right into my territory! I'll show him..._

It wasn't that difficult for Bilbo to sneak up on the company - of which he found to be made up of Dwarves, surprisingly. This was his territory, and with his hooves making not a single sound, he found himself keeping pace with them as they ambled through his forest.

There were eight, by his count, led by a Dwarf with a long white beard while the rear was kept up with a young pair with the shortest beards in the group.

He took a moment to take stock of their weapons - mostly blades and axes, and one of the younger Dwarves had a bow and arrows - before he started wandering closer.

Hobbits had a fondness for unrestrained revelry, and while Bilbo wasn't fond of drink, he found that speaking in a certain tone allowed him some control over others. He didn't often take advantage of the magic in his blood (most Hobbits didn't) but he found he could make an exception just this time (mostly to mess with Gandalf, if he were being honest).

All he had to do was whisper _"Don't you want to dance?"_ into ears and the Dwarves were suddenly overcome with the urge step and spin as though they were in a great hall with music ringing in their ears.

Bilbo couldn't help but laugh at the sight of it. Dwarves were just not designed to dance in such a manner, because they danced as though they were trying to be Hobbits - Bilbo's idea of dancing, as it was he who was suggesting it, not their normal style of dance. 

"Is this not fun?" He asked a young Dwarf with a straight-cut fringe. 

"This is fun!" The Dwarf cried.

None of the Dwarves could see him, not properly - they wouldn't remember him, when he was to eventually let them go. It was the charm of Hobbits, to move in such a silent and invisible way, a result of magic. Bilbo weaved in between the Dwarves, and hedged around the clearing they had stopped in. The Dwarves were truly dancing now.

It made Bilbo laugh harder, his tail curled between his legs in joy. 

"What is this foulness?" A voice booms, as a tall cloaked figure storms the clearing with four other Dwarves in tow.

Bilbo slinks closer to the trees, eyes keenly observing the new Dwarves. One was very tall and very muscled, with knuckle-dusters on his hands. Another was larger, with a looped beard, and he carried cooking equipment. Another had an axe embedded in his forehead.

The last Dwarf of the company, though - well, he was rather dashing, if Bilbo could say so himself.

Even if his expression was rather stern and he looked grumpy and brooding.

Gandalf turned to survey the Dwarves who were no longer dancing, his eyes sharp and inquisitive. "What exactly are you doing?"

"What kind of foolery is this?" The handsome Dwarf demands.

Bilbo's eyes widen with curiosity. Was he the leader? How fascinating.

"This is not the doing of your company, Thorin." Gandalf cuts in, before Thorin can scold the Dwarves. "I know exactly what is going on here, so you might as well come out, Bilbo!"

Bilbo frowns, and folds his arms. "I don't think I will." He mutters to himself, circling the clearing. 

"Explain, wizard." Thorin growls. 

"This is the territory of a Hobbit." Gandalf says. "A Halfling, who can trick you into acting like fools."

"And you lead us right into the heart of its territory?" Thorin asks, voice deep and eyes angry.

Gandalf hardly spares him a look. "Bilbo is not cruel enough to hurt you - humiliate, maybe, but not as a reflection of you or your own." Gandalf says. "Rather, he's probably doing it to spite _me._ I fear we're strayed too close to his den, otherwise he would not have surfaced."

"Den?" A Dwarf echoes.

"His home." Gandalf clarifies. "Either way, I suppose we'll be seeing more of him, when he's willing."

Bilbo huffs. "You're a fool." He tells Gandalf, ignoring the startled yells and the clinking of weapons as they're brandished. "You know you are only tolerated here - why bring others? I could have led them off a cliff, thrown them off their path-"

"You would not have." Gandalf says, turning around to peer at the trees as though he could see Bilbo before Bilbo allowed it.

"You seem to think you know me well." Bilbo says, narrowing his eyes as he slips through the trees. "Leave, Gandalf. I am not in the mood for your games."

"You're a wizard, aren't ye?" A Dwarf demands. "Conquer the beast!"

"I will do no such thing." Gandalf snaps. "Bilbo, stop this nonsense. Your father would be mortified."

"My father is dead." Bilbo snaps back. "Why are you here? Why bring other... _creatures_ into my forest?"

"Creatures!" Comes an outraged cry.

Gandalf sighs, aggravated. "We will make camp here, while I talk to the Hobbit." He says, leaving no room for argument. "Thorin, you come with me. I will introduce you to Bilbo, and see what happens from there."

Bilbo, although unwilling to admit defeat, was tempted enough to follow Gandalf and the Dwarf into the trees for privacy.

"Now Bilbo," Gandalf starts, "I've come to ask for your help."

Bilbo lifts a hand to touch a tree, and steps into the clearing. "What for?" He asks, suspicious.

Thorin's eyes shoot to him instantly, widening at the sight of his lower half, before drifting back up to stare at his face.

Bilbo ignores him, eyeing Gandalf. "Well?"

Gandalf glances at Thorin as though he could sense Bilbo's attraction to him. "This is Thorin Oakenshield - King of The Lonely Mountain."

"I've heard of the name." Bilbo replies, turning to look at Thorin properly. He was not the person Bilbo had imaged attached to the name - he was someone better.

"We are going on a journey." Gandalf says. "Someone with your talents will be highly valued - I ask you to join us in reclaiming the mountain."

Bilbo purses his lips. "And what are you going to do to convince me?"

Gandalf pushes Thorin forwards. "I will not - he will."

"I will?" Thorin growls frowning.

"You will." Gandalf assures.

Bilbo stares, unabashed. His tail perks in interest, his ears pricked forwards keenly.

If possible, Thorin seemed _intimidated_ by him.

Bilbo's fur ruffles pleasantly - it was rather flattering, and he couldn't help but grin. "Alright, then. Go ahead, Dwarven King. _Convince me."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by Heidifox~


	14. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo is learning to fly.

Bilbo's wings fluttered in the soft summer breeze, feathers ruffled pleasantly. 

Even living in Erebor had not dulled his passion for the spring and summer months, and how inviting the air was for flying. There was not much he enjoyed more than the wind sifting through his feathers, or the feeling of air moving beneath his wings as he rose among the trees.

Erebor's wide corridors were good for flying, too. He hardly ever had to furl his wings flush against his back anymore.

Thorin rather enjoyed them, too - he was quite fascinated, and always willing to help Bilbo preen them, of which Bilbo was rather enthusiastic for. He loved having his wings played with, it always sent chills down his spine, which Thorin took complete advantage of.

Still, flying was a process. Bilbo had always been a quick learner - he could still vaguely remember his father teaching him, holding his hands to help him drift through the air. 

Learning wasn't always the difficult path, however. Teaching, on the other hand, Bilbo found to be quite difficult.

His little nephew Frodo had finally shed most of his downy feathers, a sign that he was ready to learn to fly. Bilbo was nervous, but he had confidence in Frodo's abilities. 

Still, he held Frodo's hands tightly as the toddler fluttered his fluffy wings, looking enthusiastic. 

"Now Frodo," He starts, "I want you to move your wings until you get comfortable with the positioning, and then I'll lift you, okay? It doesn't matter if you stay floating or not, as long as you become accustomed to the motion, we're doing well."

Frodo nods several times, blue eyes alight with excitement. 

"Don't forget to flutter yer feathers like yer uncle does." Dwalin supplies unhelpfully.

"Aye, and make sure ye jump a little!" Bofur agrees. 

"Aye!" Frodo cries.

Bilbo huffs, because those "tips" were not helpful in the slightest. He didn't say anything, however, because the company liked to feel included, and Frodo was very comfortable with them. 

Bilbo drew Frodo closer to garner his attention again, and signalled him to start. When he could feel the wind coming off of Frodo's wings, he slipped his hands under Frodo's armpits and lifted him as though he were going to pick him up. 

He didn't feel weightless, like he would have if his wings were keeping him up, but Bilbo expected no less. It was, however, a good start, and Bilbo couldn't help but grin.

"Good job, baby." He laughs, delighted at Frodo's squeal of joy as the toddler throws his arms around Bilbo's neck.

Maybe teaching him to fly wouldn't be so difficult, even if he had yet to learn anything.

 

More than all the Dwarves, Thorin was the most excited. He adored Frodo almost as much as Bilbo, and welcomed him into Erebor and into their family with open arms. Bilbo would forever be grateful to him for giving them both such a loving home.

Still, Thorin had to be the most supportive. He'd watch all the lessons Bilbo gave the toddler, even when he was due to be in a meeting. He didn't want to miss anything. 

He learned how to teach Frodo himself, eventually. While he didn't have wings, he'd gleaned all the relevant information from Bilbo, and had helped Bilbo maintain the appearance of his wings so often that he knew everything he could without physically having them himself.

It was endearing to watch him teach the toddler. At every improvement he'd scoop Frodo up into his arms and whisper a multitude of variations of "I'm so proud of you, baby" and "you can do it!" over and over until Frodo was just a squirming mess of giggles. 

"He's learning so fast." Thorin grins, elated, as he presses kisses to Bilbo's forehead and holds him tightly around the waist.

"He is." Bilbo agrees as he watches Frodo flutter around their bedroom. He could lift himself into the air for a few seconds, and fly just above the ground for about two metres. He was currently entertaining himself by flying around the room, first by leaping off of their bed and then hovering from pillow to pillow (which he'd strategically placed around the room and on the floor - it was quite the mess).

Thorin smiles, letting out a pleased rumble as he runs his large hand over the main structural bone of Bilbo's wings. "He's so cute."

Bilbo chuckles. "He is!"

Thorin holds him tighter.

Bilbo couldn't help but revel in his affections. He loved his family, more than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by Keelythebiteykitty~
> 
> I had planned to continue yesterday's work, but today was just very... well, eye-opening in regards to friends, so I was left quite uninspired to continue it~ ^______T


	15. Lure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's blood is a lure for vampires.

Bilbo is what modern philanthropists have taken to calling a _Lure._

It was a name that had only come into use within the last few centuries, because people like him had stopped being maliciously (and mostly accidentally) killed by vampires. To be quite frank, there wasn't all that much special about them - not in physical appearance, anyway. They were quite normal, and could be ugly.

It was their blood that was special.

 _Lures_ were born with a property in their blood that drew in vampires like moths to a particularly addicting flame. It could become intoxicating, and increased a variety of attributes in vampires once consumed, which included strength and often at least three of the five primary senses. 

Only the strongest of vampires could find a _Lure._ Weaker ones had difficulty locating the scent, and would often become disorientated when unable to find it. That worked in Bilbo's favour, he supposed.

But the strong ones - they could seek out a _Lure_ with a lot more ease - that didn't work in his favour. When too much of their blood was consumed, the _Lure_ would die, and if the vampire became too strong, then they would be killed. It was a sort of no-win situation for the _Lure,_ in either case.

Still, _Lure_ death didn't occur as often nowadays.

Either way, Bilbo did not have any desire to be confronted by a vampire. His parents had raised him out in the middle of nowhere, but after their death he'd had no choice but to return to a more populated area to provide for himself.

He hadn't come across a vampire yet, but he'd come close. Normal humans didn't know about them, but as a _Lure_ their presence always got his blood flowing faster. He didn't think the ones he'd come across were particularly strong, but he knew it was only a matter of time before they came flocking, drawn to the call of his blood like mindless drones.

He'd never met another _Lure._

It was a dark and rainy night when Bilbo suddenly woke in a cold sweat. The rush of blood thumped through his ears like nothing he'd felt before, and he instantly _knew._

There was a vampire in town. A strong one.

 

Bilbo spent days holed up in his room nesting after that first night. _Lure's_ often did that - nesting - when threatened, and especially when they'd taken a vampire as a mate. _Lure's_ were embedded with homely instincts, after all, and just like his mother he had instincts that drove him to create a warm and comfortable environment to hide in.

Still, the raging in his blood didn't cool down. He couldn't control the way it called to strong vampires, luring them in - that was where they got their name from, after all. 

Either way, he wasn't willing to venture out, not when he could feel the vampire closing in on him.

The safest place to be was his home, where his scent was thick and familiar. He hardly left his room, instead choosing to pile in all the fabrics in his house and rest amongst the mountain of pillows and quilts. He felt the need to store his energy - either for escape or in the event of extreme blood loss, he didn't know.

He figured this was one of the reasons _Lure's_ used to die so often - they had no instincts driving them to escape, mostly because there would always be vampires to follow. Instead, they were drawn to bunkering down in hopes of laying low enough to avoid detection. It worked, sometimes, but it often didn't.

It only took just shy of three weeks for the vampire to close in on him.

Bilbo had been asleep once more (hardly surprising, seeing as vampires moved better at night without pesky humans around), tightly cocooned in his bed full of blankets. He'd been shocked awake like he had before, but this time it was by a rushing in his blood that was more than anything he'd ever felt.

Standing there at the end of his bed was the vampire.

Bilbo sucked in a breath, drawing his knees to his chest. Vaguely, he felt embarrassed about being in his old, worn pyjamas. 

The vampire moved closer, stalking across his bed. Bilbo was able to get a closer look at his features - they were strong, and very striking. His eyes were dark blue, and his nose was dominant, like he hadn't quite grown into it but had come to accept it as something to admire.

Bilbo shrunk away as the vampire hovered over him, dark hair falling across his broad shoulders to almost touch Bilbo's cheek. The vampires eyes were firmly fixed on the exposed skin of Bilbo's throat, and almost without thinking about it, the vampire lifted a hand to cover his pulse.

Bilbo's breathing hitched for a moment, pulse erratic. The vampire almost shivered, pupils dilating. He looked _hungry._ Bilbo cringed, expecting a bite, but instead-

"Can I?"

Eyes wide, Bilbo can only stare. He was asking _permission?_ Nervously, he shakes his head, trying not to tremble.

The vampire grit his teeth - Bilbo could see his jaw tense. He almost expected something to happen, but instead the vampire painstakingly drew himself away, muscles stiff and eyes dark.

"Then I won't." He says. "Not yet..."

_How can he resist? No vampire has ever...!_

What a strange man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by DrBDamned / DoctorBDamned
> 
> I will probably do a part two of this if there is interest? Mostly because I feel bad for writing something so... lacklustre - I had another terrible day, and thus this was born ^______T


	16. Lure Pt.II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is unlike any vampire Bilbo has ever heard of.

It was unnerving to be so close to a vampire. Bilbo had never seen them this close before, and hadn't ever had the desire to. But this one, this vampire... There was just something rather charming about him that had nothing to do with either his looks or his impressive self-control.

And impressive it was. Vampires were notorious for being unable to resist _Lure's,_ and even though the vampire found himself unable to leave Bilbo's house he certainly controlled his thirst well.

Bilbo made the man a cup of tea before he knew his name - he blamed his nesting instincts, but he had an urge to _provide,_ or at least something similar to that.

"Your name." The man says. "What is it?"

He was standing as far away from Bilbo as he could without completely disappearing from the room, bracketed by a darkened doorway that did little in the way of providing visibility. He held the teacup loosely, and hadn't drunk a sip.

It took Bilbo a lot longer than it should have to process the question. "It's Bilbo." He says, eventually coming to the conclusion that the question had, in fact, required an answer. 

The man nodded, looking appeased. 

"How can you resist?" Bilbo asks, clutching his teacup tightly. He hardly felt the burn through the porcelain, though it was definitely present. 

"Would you prefer that I simply ravish you?" The man asks, eyes dark.

Bilbo shrinks into his shoulders, and shakes his head even as his cheeks go dark red. He clears his throat with another sip of tea. "Your name...?"

"Thorin." The man answers. 

The heavy sound of thumping against his front door startles Bilbo. The tea in his cup sloshes, and he feels the burn this time, enough to drop the cup and cry out as the liquid sizzles on his skin.

Thorin was by his side in an instant, cradling Bilbo's burnt hands in his own even as his eyes darted to the windows and doorways. Bilbo couldn't help but fidget, whimpering and flexing his fingers in an attempt to wear away the stinging water. 

Thorin hushed him, absently lifting his hands to brush his lips along Bilbo's knuckles. Bilbo sucked in a nervous breath, but Thorin didn't react. "Do you sense anyone?" He asks instead.

Bilbo shakes his head. Thorin was completely eclipsing his senses, and the rushing in his blood was all Thorin's fault, too. He'd never felt so vulnerable. 

Floorboards creaking told Bilbo that there was definitely someone else in his home.

Thorin growled, his grip on Bilbo's hands tightening briefly. "Go wait in your room." He says, releasing Bilbo's hands.

Bilbo nods, and heads straight for his room as Thorin disappears down the darkened hallway. He shut the bedroom door behind himself, and instantly shuffles himself under all the blankets piled on his bed.

He could hear noises coming from the front of his house - hisses and growls and the sound of bodies hitting walls and the floor. It frightened him, made his heart pound faster than it should.

He was only alone for a matter of minutes before Thorin stalked into his room. He flung the blankets off of Bilbo, eyes wild and hair dishevelled. A nasty bruise was forming at the corner of his lips, and what looked like blood from a choppy cut was staining his shirt. 

"You can't stay here." Thorin says gruffly, plucking Bilbo from the bed as though he weighed nothing (though he certainly weighed a fair amount, but not enough to trouble the vampire, apparently).

"Where are you taking me?" Bilbo frowns, wringing his hands together nervously.

Thorin spares him a glance, but doesn't falter in his smooth strides. "Somewhere safe."

 

Astonishingly, Bilbo fell asleep on the way to wherever Thorin was taking him. He thought it was more like he passed out, but he slept startlingly well nevertheless.

Thorin's scent was thick and potent in the place he woke up in. Bilbo found himself tucked tightly into a bed covered in pillows and blankets. It didn't take much for him to realise he was in Thorin's room - and that Thorin had attempted to make it more nest-like, which Bilbo thought was endearing - but the only question was about Thorin's whereabouts.

Where was he, anyway? He was showing quite a bit of self-restraint, which Bilbo found quite admirable.

Bilbo pushed himself upright, and glanced around. The room felt quite personal, and despite being decorated in a rather minimalist fashion, it was somewhat comforting. 

_What a strange vampire..._

Bilbo was only sitting awake for about half-an-hour before Thorin returned, carrying a glass of water.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, handing Bilbo the water. His eyes were still dark and diluted - Bilbo wondered how thirsty he was.

"Alright." Bilbo answers. He probably wouldn't have felt so okay if he wasn't buried in blankets and pillows. Absently, he sips down half the glass, relishing in the coolness of the water. "Where is this?"

"This is my home." Thorin says. "It's isolated, and completely in my territory. No one will bother you while you are here."

Bilbo nods. "That's good."

Thorin glances him over, eyes lingering once again on his throat.

"Why are you able to resist so well?" Bilbo asks. "I've never heard of a vampire like you."

"That's because there are none." Thorin says. "I've never heard of it either - I've certainly not been able to resists such a strong _Lure_ before, though I've never met one like you."

Bilbo tilts his head to the side curiously.

"I spoke with a man named Gandalf." Thorin starts.

Bilbo scrunches up his nose. "I know of him."

"He said that I've buffered your senses." Thorin says. "Which is why you do not sense other vampires at the moment - for there are quite a few here. You're still emitting very strong senses, stronger than usual, but Gandalf said that would lesson when your blood calms."

Bilbo nods, letting the information sink in. It made sense, but he didn't know why Thorin was so potent.

Maybe it was just meant to be.

"When did you last drink?" Bilbo asks before he can stop himself.

Thorin stares at him. "A few weeks ago."

"Is that normal?"

"Not at all."

"What's normal?"

"A few times a week, maybe."

Bilbo blinks. "That's rather frequent."

Thorin doesn't answer.

Bilbo hums thoughtfully, glancing to the side. "I... I don't mind, if you want to." He says. 

Thorin stares harder, his jaw tensing - his fangs were likely extending of their own violation. "Why?"

"You're different." Bilbo answers. "You're not going to hurt me, are you?"

Thorin shakes his head. 

"There's your answer." Bilbo shrugs. 

Thorin looked reluctant, but when Bilbo tilted his neck to the side in offering, well.

He didn't hold back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graduation tomorrow //huffs
> 
> It's kind of daunting OwO"


	17. Midnight Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Bilbo go grocery shopping at midnight.

For some reason, when problems arose during the middle of the night they seemed quite a bit more problematic than usual.

Bilbo told Thorin so, as they stood in their pyjamas and slippers in the middle of the frozen produce isle, looking for peanut-butter flavoured ice-cream to go with their cart full of plum jam, slightly overripe oranges, a whole iceberg lettuce and a packet of Tic Tacs.

It wasn't as though they particularly needed to be grocery shopping in their pyjamas at midnight, but it didn't feel all that strange when they were both so tired they were vaguely slap-happy.

"Should we just get the ice-creams on a stick?" Bilbo asks.

Thorin was frowning, clutching the shopping basket tightly. "A tub would be better." He decides.

Bilbo hums in agreement, and paces in front of the freezers again. "I don't think they have a tub, dear."

Thorin frowns deeper, and grabs at Bilbo as he wanders past again to tuck him into his side. "Do you think freezing a tub of normal peanut-butter would be the same?"

"Probably not."

Thorin sighs. "Was there anything else we need?"

Bilbo thinks for a moment, but shakes his head. "Don't think so!"

Thorin sighs again, and nuzzles Bilbo's hair. "Let's go then."

Bilbo laughs at his lover's reluctant nature. It was Thorin's idea to rush out in the middle of the night to the only twenty-four-hour grocery store in their town in search of the strangest ingredients after Thorin had declared Bilbo's pantry unsatisfactory. Of course, Bilbo had gone along with his strange whims because he liked spending time with Thorin no matter what, even if the man was being stubborn and strange for no apparent reason. 

Still, midnight shopping in pyjamas had to be one of the weirdest things Thorin had ever made him do.

Either way, Bilbo still adored him. There was nothing about him that Bilbo would change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Attackonwallahmelones~ sorry it's so short, ahah ^^"
> 
> Ahhh, I'm so tired~ ^m^ Graduating was a strange experience, but I got a handful of awards so it was alright ^^"


	18. Old Aches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old aches and pains troubled Bilbo during the colder months.

Old aches and pains troubled Bilbo during the colder months.

It was his knee that bothered him the most. It had been injured in the Battle of the Five Armies, and the tumultuous journey from the Shire to the Lonely Mountain strained it and probably damaged the muscles. 

Sometimes it was hard to walk, but most of the time he was able to function normally after stretching in the morning and before he goes to bed. It wasn't as easy if he forgot, but generally he was as active and flexible as ever.

The dead of winter got to him, though.

It was only when he started limping that Thorin became concerned. 

Bilbo winced as he lifted his foot off the ground, trying to flex his knee. It was aching something fierce. 

"Ghivashel, are you alright?" Thorin asks, cupping Bilbo's elbow to draw him away from the conversation going on in the Great Hall.

"My knee hurts." Bilbo admits, wincing as he shifts his weight again. "But I still have to find Bofur, and then the head of the agricultural department wished to speak to me..."

"They can wait." Thorin murmurs, eyes dark with worry as he begins to lead Bilbo from the room. "I want you to rest your knee for the night."

"Thorin, I have so much to do, it's only just been dinner time." Bilbo protests, brows furrowing. Even so, he stumbled and limped behind Thorin, reluctant to dig in his heels (figuratively and literally).

"Bilbo, you are in pain." Thorin says. "It is my duty to care for you as best I can, and to support you in all your endeavours. Did I not promise to you to do so?"

Bilbo sighs - he couldn't argue with Thorin when the Dwarven King was so determined. He took Bilbo's health very seriously, especially during the colder months. "And you've done so." He assures. "I just don't want my injuries to distract you from your work, or my own for that matter."

Thorin just chuckles, and ducks to press a soft kiss to Bilbo's forehead. "It's not a problem, ghivashel." He assures. "Let me take care of you."

"If you insist..."

Thorin smiles pleasingly, and with relative ease he lifts Bilbo up into his arms. Ignoring Bilbo's shocked grunt, he starts to wander back down the long trek to their bedroom. "Is it the cold, or have you strained your muscle?" He asks.

"It's the cold, I think." Bilbo answers on another sigh, lifting an arm around Thorin's broad shoulders. "I might have kicked the covers off last night."

Thorin hums. "I'll get out the other quilts tonight, and keep the fire going a few hours longer."

"Thank you." Bilbo says. "These corridors can get rather cold during the middle of winter." He muses. "I should of got the blankets out last week."

"I'll get them." Thorin repeats as they finally come upon their room. Thorin enters, and gently lays him on their bed. "Comfortable?"

Bilbo nods, and watches as Thorin moves around the room to collect his sleeping clothes, the blankets and start up the fire in their marvellous fireplace. Irritatingly, he shifts his leg, trying to quell the aching in his knee. Nothing seemed to be working, and it was rather frustrating.

"Here, change into these." Thorin says, handing Bilbo his clothes. "I'll get that fire going."

Bilbo nods again, and takes the clothes from Thorin. It's a little uncomfortable, but he eventually manages to change before slipping under the covers of the bed. 

Thorin returns and drapes another blanket over the bed, before reaching for Bilbo's outstretched leg. His hands worm under the covers to expose his knee, before they begin to massage the joint in firm, smooth strokes. 

Bilbo whimpers, but it doesn't hurt - quite the opposite, in fact. Thorin's hands are big, his fingers thick; they're nothing like a Hobbit's hands, and are not built for gardening or dainty work. Nevertheless, they press into the edges of his knee and apply just the right amount of pressure to chase away the lingering pain.

It makes Bilbo drowsy and boneless. "How d'you do that?" He asks, eyes drooping. "Feels good..."

Thorin chuckles, and bends to press a gentle kiss to Bilbo's knee as he starts to extend his massage. "Get some rest, ghivashel." He says soothingly. "I'll see you in the morning."


	19. Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is mugged. Thorin stitches him up.

Thorin lived in a really little, obscure town that was placed between two large cities but hardly ever visited. People drove through on a constant basis, but never stopped, not really. They were a place to look at, not often a place to stay.

The constant flow of people made for many interesting nights in the ER, Thorin thought.

Tonight was one of those nights. The ambulance drove in with a patient close to Thorin's age with reported lacerations that were in need of cleansing and stitching. It was due to a mugging, he was told, which always had his hackles prickling.

It was such a cowardly thing to do.

And when Thorin saw the victim, he only felt that that was all the more true.

Bilbo Baggins was a small man with a head full of honey-coloured curls and bright eyes hidden behind a pair of stylish glasses that almost seemed to slip off his little nose. He wore a sweater, now stained with drying blood and probably ruined, and was nervously chewing on his thumbnail when he was led into Thorin's surgery.

"How are you feeling, Mr Baggins?" Thorin asks as he gently helps Bilbo roll up the sleeve of his sweater to expose the wound after pulling on a pair of gloves. 

"Alright." Bilbo answers shakily. "Could be better."

Thorin chuckles, and reaches for disinfectants and water. "I'll start cleaning this, then see about stitches. That okay?"

Bilbo nods, and Thorin sets about doing his job. He makes sure to talk to Bilbo throughout the process, to get his mind off things - asks about his job, hobbies, family...

Bilbo was an interesting person. He worked for a publishing company, and was close to releasing his first book. He loved to garden, and spoke passionately for several minutes about the history and myths of forget-me-nots, and bashfully likens them to the colour of Thorin's eyes.

"This will need stitches." Thorin sighs, as he peers at the wound carefully. "But not many. You don't have any allergies I should know about, do you?"

Bilbo shakes his head.

"Alright, then I'll inject you with anaesthetic and start. It won't hurt much." He assures.

Bilbo took the stitches remarkably well considering how pale he went at the sight of the needle. Thorin hoped his conversation skills, however subpar, helped a little. He knew he could come off as a little cold or intimidating, but he was really trying to impress Bilbo. It didn't help that Bilbo preferred to stare at him so that he didn't risk a glance at the needle sliding into his skin.

When he was done, and after bandaging the wound, he helped Bilbo make another appointment with him to remove the stitches in a few weeks then escorted him to the hospital exit. He really didn't need to, and it wasn't required of him, but he wanted to.

"Um, do you- do you want to go for coffee, or something? Sometime?" Bilbo asks, glancing up at Thorin from under his eyelashes as his cheeks go bright red. "I mean, if- only if you want to, that is-"

"I'd love to." Thorin grins, heart pounding.

"Really?" Bilbo asks, eyes widening as though he truly believed Thorin would have said no. "Great!"

They exchanged numbers, and then Bilbo was leaving, smiling shyly over his shoulder as Thorin waved. He waited until Bilbo was gone - safely tucked away in the car of a friend who had come to pick him up - before he turns back into the hospital. 

He almost walked right into his long-time colleague, Balin, who eyed him with that knowing look that said he was going to get into all kinds of jovial trouble.

Thorin just rolls his eyes, and tries to hide his grin. "Oh, shut up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by THE_PurpleShirt and DrBDamned~


	20. The Lonely Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has a strange cat.

Bilbo was a lonely person. He lived by himself in a perfectly adequate little house at the end of a very long street, where there were certainly many places for more houses to fit but instead the land was left as it was. He worked out of his home, as an author, so no one really came to visit him.

His writing was lonely, too. He wrote of travel without ever leaving his home, of love without ever loving or being loved, of great adventures when his greatest adventure was venturing down his long driveway to check the mailbox once a day. 

He was a very lonely person, and sometimes he didn't want that to change.

But then it did change.

He named the cat Acorn. It was a small thing, barely weaned, extremely scrawny. Its fur was in tatters and had knots worse than Bilbo's when he didn't brush his hair for a few days, and its paws looked mighty big and disproportional for such a small body. 

He named the cat Acorn because its fur was brown and he thought that acorns, always so small and insignificant, could maybe be a little lonely when they fell from their branches too. 

Acorn liked to hiss, Bilbo found. He would hiss and bare his tiny teeth and flail a paw or two until Bilbo's small hands soothed him to sleep. Bilbo bathed Acorn with warmed water, and wiped his eyes clean. He brushed out his fur, and spent a little more money than he would have liked on the best food he could find.

When Acorn was big enough and he had gained some weight, Bilbo bought him a collar with two tinkling bells, as well.

His house wasn't so lonely with the cat around. Acorn followed him from room to room, and woke him up when the birds started singing with yowls for food. He was a bit of a bossy cat, too, and wasn't afraid to disrupt Bilbo's work to demand Bilbo's full attention.

Acorn could be mischievous like that. He would knock Bilbo's papers off the desk, or lounge across his keyboard so that Bilbo couldn't work. He liked to stick his nose in Bilbo's tea when Bilbo turned away, and always managed to eat Bilbo's prized snapdragons just when they just started coming into bloom. 

But Acorn did love to eat flies during the summer months when they started infiltrating his house - he had become quite good at snapping them up out of the air, which always made Bilbo laugh. Acorn loved to chase after tinfoil balls, and whenever Bilbo laid in bed for too long because he was sad Acorn would always wander in and cuddle up beside him. He tolerated Bilbo slinging an arm over his back, and didn't kick if Bilbo's hands strayed too close to his stomach.

Acorn was a good cat. He was Bilbo's closest friend, and while that admittedly sounded quite sad, Bilbo didn't mind. 

Of course, having a cat in the house meant Bilbo had to be more social. He had to make more regular trips to the grocers, and to the pet store - Acorn was always losing his favourite Ping-Pong balls in the huge backyard, so Bilbo had to keep buying more - and of course he had to make several appointments with the veterinarian. 

See, that wouldn't have been too straining. Bilbo could deal with the embarrassment of buying a dozen Ping-Pong balls a week, and he quickly got over the trauma of carrying those huge bags of kitty-litter around (as well as the cleaning of the litter when it was inevitably used). It was his responsibility, as a loving pet owner.

But the veterinarian was so attractive. _Painfully_ attractive. It was really unfair, if Bilbo were being quite honest.

It was like Thorin Oakenshield had walked right out of a romance novel, ready to slay dragons and rescue princesses and run quite huge companies as the famous, rich CEO that often starred in those kinds of things.

Acorn didn't like Thorin - not after the first needle, anyway. He would skitter off the table and run Thorin in circles around the room, all the while Bilbo flustered and floundered like a fish out of water. 

Really, what could he do when his manic cat was leaping across the floor and driving the veterinarian dizzy?

"I'm so sorry." Bilbo whimpers when it happens for the fourth time - it was Acorn's cat flu vaccination, this time, because he'd already had his three mandatory ones and the virus was going around.

"It's alright, Mr Baggins." Thorin says, giving him a charming smile as Bilbo scoops up his wild cat and deposits him back on the table. "He's certainly not the wildest animal I've ever had the liberty of looking after."

Bilbo makes a strangled sound as Acorn hisses at Thorin's hands. He wouldn't bite, because Acorn never bit, but his hissing was rather scary. "I'm really sorry, he's never like this."

"It's okay, it's to be expected." Thorin assures as he readies the injection. He gives Bilbo another easy smile. "You should of seen this one Chihuahua that was brought it..."

 

At Acorn's next check-up, Thorin bashfully asked for his phone number.

Bilbo had never been so puzzled at a question, before. He could only stare and blink, mouth agape like a goldfish, because he could hardly believe such an accomplished and handsome person was potentially interested in him.

Of course he'd eventually given Thorin his details, once he'd got over his shock. How could he not?

 

Five years and one marriage later, Bilbo still asked Thorin what first prompted him to ask for Bilbo's number.

"Well, you're pretty cute." Thorin would always say, grinning cheekily. "All big red cheeks and bright eyes. Of course I was attracted to you, but I think it was also your cat."

"Acorn?"

"Yeah, he's so weird." Thorin chuckled. "But he's a real sweetheart, just like you!"

Acorn had grown to love Thorin, too, just as much as Thorin loved him. The fluffy thing still refused to give up his spot on the bed (which was meant to be Thorin's), and never stopped meowing early in the morning until one of them got up to feed him, but he warmed to Thorin surprisingly fast after needles were no longer a factor. 

He'd purr when Thorin pet him, and even let Thorin brush out his tail. He loved every gift Thorin brought him, even the little plastic mice that he previously had no interest in. Not to mention, with a veterinarian as an owner, he was the healthiest cat on the block with the shiniest coat. 

Now Bilbo had two other living beings in his perfectly adequate home.

He was never lonely anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Heidifox~


	21. Bounty Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is a bounty hunter. Bilbo has a big price on his head.

Thorin was a bounty hunter.

It wasn't the most glamorous job, nor was it particularly legal. He didn't always get paid for the amount of trouble he had to go through, and a lot of clients thought that they could scam him into doing the job they wanted while they got to their money (they couldn't). However, a job was a job and it helped him provide for his two little nephews.

Still, his latest comission was proving to be quite... odd.

He'd been hired to catch a thief. On the scale of wily criminals, thieves were pretty high, so Thorin found them tricky to deal with. They were good at hiding, and good at escaping - it was their vocation. They were thus notoriously difficult to track down and catch.

Thorin's target was a small man; his description was diminutive, but his talents in regards to thievery were highly regarded. He'd supposedly stolen big ticket items, like starlight gems from the King of Elves and a magic ring from the fiery pits of Mordor. 

Strangely enough, everything he stole was mysteriously returned. It made no sense, but was extremely frustrating - lots of people wanted him caught and punished for his actions. 

He'd been on the hunt for the thief for almost two months before the thief stumbled into his path.

Literally, _stumbled._

It was the oddest thing to ever happen to him.

Thorin supposed that Bilbo Baggins himself was the strangest thing, actually. 

He certainly fit his diminutive description. He was small in height, with chubby features and soft-looking curls atop of his head. His hands were small and dainty - and filled with what looked like enough bread to feed both his nephews and himself twice over - and his eyes were big and soulful.

Thorin felt like he could carry Bilbo around in his pocket.

"Uh... you wouldn't happen to be the bounty hunter Thorin Oakenshield, would you?" Bilbo asks nervously, peering up at Thorin with those big damn eyes like he didn't know how unbearably cute he was.

"I am." Thorin mutters bitterly.

Bilbo straightens, clearing his throat as he clutches the cloth-wrapped bread in his arms. "You wouldn't happen to be after me, would you?"

"I am."

"Ah, well." Bilbo looks to the side, wincing. "You wouldn't be easily bought off with bread, would you...?"

Thorin took a moment to take in Bilbo - properly, this time. His clothes were as clean as they could be after (probably) stealing many loaves of bread, and he wasn't wearing any extravagant jewellery. His hair was not adorned with braids or beads, but when Thorin peered closer, he noticed a band of woven leather tied around Bilbo's wrist, strung with what looked like daisies and other little flowers.

It reminded him remarkably of the jewellery his young nephews made him.

He narrows his eyes thoughtfully. "If you're a burglar, how do you find the time to parent?"

Bilbo startles, almost dropping the bread. He stares suspiciously, and takes a step back.

Thorin lifts his hands in surrender. "I have two nephews, I can tell a child's gift apart from crafted jewellery." He says, gesturing to Bilbo's bracelet. 

Bilbo huffs at him. "I'm not _always_ stealing things. Just... sometimes." 

And that was how he first met Bilbo Baggins.

 

His nephews loved hearing tales about the burglar. They grew accustomed to Bilbo's name.

Thorin found himself unable to stop talking about him. 

 

His job, however, remained.

He told Bilbo so, the next time they met.

Meeting was becoming a regular occurrence, of which Thorin was not ashamed to admit (to his nephews - he couldn't have anyone else know he wasn't doing his job). Bilbo was always up to something, some sort of little adventure - it was addicting.

 _He_ was addicting. 

 

Thorin didn't know how, but somewhere down the line he met Bilbo's nephew.

Little Frodo was like a breath of fresh air. He had the brightest blue eyes Thorin had ever seen, and a grin so contagious that even he couldn't help but crack a smile when Frodo laughed and giggled. 

Bilbo only became a thief because of Frodo. One day, after so many meetings Thorin had lost count, Bilbo told him why he did what he did.

"Frodo's parents died in a boating accident." Bilbo says, looking out to the horizon as they sat atop a hill near Bilbo's home. "They drowned, and I was left with Frodo. When winter came, everyone in my town suffered, even us. None would come to our aid, and everyone started starving. Many people died."

"I'm sorry." Thorin murmurs, a hand on Bilbo's shoulder.

"It's fine." Bilbo says, offering a wane smile. "I turned to stealing because I had to care for Frodo. I wanted him to have the best start in life, even without Primula and Drogo there to guide him. I was good at it - the stealing. I was doubted so many times in my life, and no one ever came to my aid... not when my parents were killed, nor when my infant was starving. I started stealing because I could, because it was easy."

"You wanted to prove that you could." Thorin says.

Bilbo nods. "The money is good." He tells Thorin.

"Do you return what you steal?" He asks. "It never stays stolen for long."

Bilbo laughs. "I get paid to steal, and paid twice as much to steal it back!"

 

Bilbo met Kili and Fili, too. They loved him, clamoured over him like he was a toy, and just loved to hold his hands and hear his stories. 

The burglar liked them, too. Thought they were a lot like his little Frodo. Fawned over them. Cared for them in a way much like Thorin's. 

Thorin thought that they were making quite the nice little family.

 

However, his job wasn't to make a family. He was being paid to capture Bilbo, to tear him away from Frodo and turn him over to all the people clamouring for his hands to be in chains. 

He didn't want to, but he needed the money.

So he came up with a plan.

 

Thorin took his nephews to Bilbo's home. It was the most secluded place he'd ever seen - he would have never found it unless Bilbo had led him straight to it. Fili was old enough to look after Kili and Frodo, to make sure they didn't hurt themselves or stray out of the locked doors of the house.

Then he took Bilbo in chains and gave him to his employer.

The money he was given was quite the hefty sum. He couldn't look at Bilbo when he did so, instead keeping his eyes on the coins. The gold was tantalizing before his gaze. He didn't think he'd ever seen so much in one spot.

He didn't return to Bilbo's home that night. Instead, he hid out in the town, waiting atop a roof as he watched the streets thin of people and activity before him as the moon rose high above the chimneys. It must have been nearing the early hours of dawn before something happened.

"You escaped." Thorin breathes, dropping from the rooftop to quietly land on the ground and envelope Bilbo into his arms. The little burglar was shaking with effort, his shoulders trembling. His skin was cold, and Thorin hurriedly used his hands to warm it.

Bilbo offers him a shaky smile. "Can you get these off?" He lifts his hands, shows Thorin the chains still binding his wrists. His skin looked red and raw.

Thorin quickly complies, unwinding the bindings and allowing them to clatter to the ground. He'd worked furiously as a blacksmith before he turned to bounty hunting - he knew the inns and outs of contraptions like handcuffs, not just swords and daggers like many expected. "How did you escape?" He asks in a rush.

"A burglar never tells his secrets." Bilbo replies, dusting off his sooty, dirt stained clothing. "But it did help that the guards drank themselves silly."

Thorin just laughs breathlessly, and presses his lips to Bilbo's forehead in a ghost of a kiss. 

"Did you get the money?" Bilbo asks.

Thorin pulls the heavy bag from inside his coat. "More than what was promised, for turning you in alive." He grins, shaking the bag gently. The coins jingle - it's a very satisfying sound.

Bilbo smiles. He looks exhausted. "Let's go home, Thorin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by DrBDamned / DoctorBDamned


	22. Hide-and-Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo falls asleep during hide-and-seek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kili/Fili/Bilbo/Thorin implied~

It was a silly idea, but no one really protested.

The company, Bilbo included, split into pairs before the seeker pair was decided. Kili and Thorin disappeared into another room, even with the catcalls from certain company members, and the rest scattered off into the various reaches of Erebor's corridors to find suitable hiding places.

"I haven't played this since I was a child." Bilbo says, glancing up at his partner.

Fili offered a charming grin, the one he knew would make Bilbo's cheeks redden. "In a place like this it's rather common." He says. "Mountains carved through with so many corridors are rich for games like this."

Bilbo chuckles. "I suppose you have a point." He says. "Do you have an idea of where we should hide?"

The both of them had been in Erebor for just about the same time - Erebor had fallen long before Fili was born, which was much the same as for Bilbo. Fili, however, had spent countless hours learning the layout during his important business activities, and as the Prince he probably knew every corner by now. He was used to living in places carved like Dwarves, knew their ways and their building styles.

Bilbo, on the other hand, had to learn it all from scratch. 

But Fili still offered him a reassuring grin, his eyes bright with mischief.

 

They ended up tucked into a small alcove. Pipes used to move heated water were only a few feet beneath the little den, so it was luxuriously warm when Bilbo and Fili managed to finally squeeze themselves into the space.

Bilbo ended up with his face cushioned by Fili's shoulder, his nose being ticked by Fili's golden locks. He didn't mind - it was just like when he woke up with Fili plastered to him in any possible position he could comfortably manage. 

"It's an advantage having a small partner like you." Fili declared as he settled his arm around Bilbo's shoulders. "They'll never think to look here."

Bilbo hardly thought of himself as small, but he supposed in comparison to Dwarves, he was on the shorter side. "How long until we leave, then?" He asks around a yawn. "It's rather comfortable here."

Fili hums in agreement. "It is." He says, hand firm and warm on Bilbo's waist. "We'd best get settled in!"

 

Bilbo fell asleep. Cocooned by the warmth of the pipes and the comforting softness of Fili, he didn't stand a chance. 

He didn't expect Fili to fall asleep, too, but it was a rather comfortable hiding spot. 

In the end it turned out they won the game. The company hadn't been able to find any trace of them, and when they did not return for several hours they became very concerned. Neither Fili nor Bilbo really realised what time it was until they stumbled out of their spot, tired and somewhat disorientated, only to be scolded by a frantic Thorin for their carelessness.

But really, there was not much scolding to do. They were safe, and home, and that was all that mattered - or so Thorin said, anyway.

Still, Bilbo thought it was a good enough adventure for the week. Fili looked remarkably rested the next day, after catching a few more hours of sleep in their bed when he finally managing to escape Kili's apologetic embrace.

Bilbo thought it odd that no one had found them, and told Thorin so as they laid in bed and waited for Kili and Fili to fall asleep, as they always did.

"No one even thought to check there." Thorin said. "You're much smaller than we are, âmralimê - it's an unfair advantage."

Bilbo chuckled. "Only if I am not on your team."

"You will be next time." Thorin muttered, pressing worried kisses to Bilbo's forehead. 

Bilbo placated him, but couldn't help smiling sleepily. "Of course I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by DrBDamned / DoctorBDamned


	23. From The First Glance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo captures a stranger in the background of one of his photos and is instantly enamoured.

Bilbo photographs special things.

The subject matter of his photographs are nothing spectacular. He'll stand on the edge of a crowded street and take a photo of all the strangers rushing by, or he'll stand alone at a dark park under the light of a street lamp to take a photo of the strangers walking by with their dogs held on a loose leash. He'll take a photo of anything.

Sometimes the photos weren't even all that good - the edges would blur if his hands shook with the cold of winter, or a bird would swoop in and leave a steak of colour that he didn't really want, or there would be a dust spec on his lens he wouldn't notice at first.

The thing that made his photos special was not the people or landscapes he captured, but rather the _moment._

He was one of the few people in the world with such a gift. He could take a photo that captured the emotions, the scents and the sounds of the moment, and transform it into something tangible, something to hold. No one really knew how people like him did it, and he didn't truly know, either.

All he knew was that he liked to see the world through his lens. That was all he needed, really.

 

He liked to capture photos of his nephew, Frodo.

His favourite was a photo of Frodo when the child could barely walk. He was seated in the dirt of Bilbo's newly remade garden beds, surrounded by potted plants and so many flowers that even Bilbo couldn't count them all.

Frodo was smiling in that picture, a big toothy grin that made Bilbo feel like all was good in the world.

When he held the photo, rubbing his thumb over the worn edge, he could feel so much. The summer breeze danced across his skin, the scent of soil tickled his noise, the sound of Frodo's laughter echoed between his ears. When he looked at the photo, it was like Frodo was _moving,_ becoming more _alive_ than any other two-dimensional picture would allow. 

He kept that photo in his wallet at all times. 

 

One day, when Bilbo was taking photos of the crowds passing by him on the street, something happened.

It wasn't until he got home that he printed the photos to look at properly. There was one he was instantly attracted to - something about it had him positively quivering with excitement. 

It took a moment for him to realise that there was a person in the photograph that he was undeniably drawn to.

The man was tall, and half of him was blended into the crowd that Bilbo could hardly get himself to pay attention to. This man had dark hair, and a strong face with quite masculine features. Bilbo couldn't help but stare, clutching the photo as tight as he could without risking damaging the image itself.

He didn't know how long he sat on his couch, staring, trying to comprehend what the photo was making him feel.

Probably hours.

 

Bilbo wasn't that fond of social media, but there was a website dedicated to people like him. People who took photos like his posted their photos for people to see - they became internet sensations. 

He had a large following on his account. He posted his photos, and helped people, through the social media accounts. He'd brought countless people together - people who were so connected that he could see it through photos he'd taken of them. He offered people an outlet, too - he took photos of places that people had once visited so that they may relive the experience.

There were some photos he only permitted a handful of people to see - his friends, and family, mostly. He posted the image of the man to them first, desperately hoping they'd know who he was. 

Much to his surprise, they did.

Fate worked like that.

His name was Thorin Oakenshield, and he was blissfully single. He worked for a well established company, and probably had a very high salary, but Bilbo didn't care. He wasn't into things like that - couldn't care less, if he were being honest.

Through his friend, he arranged a meeting.

 

He was nervous as he walked to the coffee shop. His heart was all fluttery, and his hands were beginning to turn damp with sweat. It was a good kind of nervous - a refreshing, exciting kind of nervousness that he wanted to always remember.

He took a photo of himself peering through the lens of his camera in the reflection of a shop's window. He knew it would be a good photo.

Bilbo was the first one to arrive at the café. He bought a warm drink, and a shortbread biscuit, and made himself at home in a booth far away from the window. Sometimes, he got lost in the crowd, lost in the sensations that were just beyond the reach of his camera. He didn't want to get distracted today.

He had half-finished his biscuit when Thorin walked through the door. The bell chimed, and then he was there, hair still windswept, falling across and through his scarf in a purposefully careful way. 

Bilbo's eyes widen. Thorin was taller than he expected, his shoulders broader too - he was so handsome... 

"You must be Bilbo Baggins." Thorin says as he approaches, offering his hand.

Bilbo nods, and tries to say something in return, but nothing comes out. Instead, he grips Thorin's hand and probably shakes it a little weakly, but he can't help it, he's _overwhelmed._

"Nice to meet you." He eventually chokes out. He was sure he looked like an awe-struck fool, but here was the person in his photograph, living and breathing and moving. He'd never felt like this before. "Can I take your picture?"

Thorin startles at the question, and unwinds his scarf from around his neck as he takes a seat across from Bilbo. "You're one of those people who can capture feelings in photographs, aren't you?"

Bilbo nods, gripping his camera tightly. 

"If you want to, go ahead." Thorin says. He sounded curious.

Bilbo lifts the camera, lets it focus as he peers through the lens. Thorin watches him, eyes dark and inquisitive, and then the shutters went off.

"Why me?" Thorin asks, as Bilbo lowers the camera.

Bilbo can't help but stare at him, and hopes that he doesn't look too silly. He shrugs a shoulder, still nervous, and tries to smile. "I took a photo of a crowd - I do that a lot." He says. "There's a lot of different things to look at in those kinds of photos, but in the one I took... all I could see was you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by THE_PurpleShirt~


	24. A Phone Call Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin has to take care of the kids while Bilbo works late.

Bilbo didn't often work late. With three young children to care for, and a husband who also worked full time, most of his days started early and finished at the same time school did. Sometimes, he even brought his youngest, Frodo, into work with him.

So the days he worked back where often the most stressful. It was usually for important, fussy clients who were paying him enough that he was willing to stay late, but that didn't mean he particularly enjoyed it.

Thorin had to take care of the kids, too, and the man wasn't that great at cooking.

Either way, it was no surprise to Bilbo when the first call came in.

"Just slice up fruit for afternoon tea, Thorin." Bilbo says, holding the phone against his ear with his shoulder as he pinned layers of fabric to the dress he was tailoring. "Enough to fill those little bowls with the fish on the bottom."

"Do they all like the same?"

"No, Frodo doesn't like oranges, but Fili does, so give Fili more orange slices."

"Okay - but Kili doesn't like kiwi fruit."

"So don't give him any."

"And he's saying they have special forks?"

"In the cutlery drawer, yes. The colours match the rim of the bowl."

"Kili's is blue, right? And Fili's is the orange one?"

"Right, Frodo has the green one."

"Alright, okay. Thanks love, sorry for disturbing you."

"It's not a problem."

Really, it wasn't. People always said he'd tire of Thorin's behaviour when it came to the kids, but their little family hadn't been together for more than a few years, so he was rightfully nervous. He could take care of his nephews, but with Frodo he was always more careful, always softer and more gentle with his words.

None of the kids noticed, of course - they all took to their new respective parents easily, so easily in fact that Bilbo was a little surprised.

Still, he could understand Thorin's worry. None of their kids were particularly sensitive, but to upset them... it was always heart wrenching, even if it were for their own good (like bath time cries - Bilbo _hated_ those, but he hated the cries for them at night when the kids wanted to sleep in Bilbo's and Thorin's bed when they couldn't). 

The next call was a little more unexpected.

"Do I put the bubble bath stuff in the water after it's finished filling up or when the tap is still on?"

"When the tap is on." Bilbo answered, pushing away from his desk for a moment. "You're using the bubble mixture?"

"Yeah." 

"Why?"

"The kids said they missed you." Thorin murmurs. "I wanted to make them happy again."

Bilbo's heart flutters. "I miss them too." He sighs. "I haven't seen them all day."

Thorin was silent for a moment.

Bilbo's brow creased. "I'm sure they love having you around, Thorin." He says, sensing Thorin's silence as disappointment. "You know how much they tell me they miss you when you are not home, and you've seen how happy they are when you walk through the front door."

Thorin sighs. "I know, I know." He says. "I just wish we could be together more, not only on weekends. I think I'll cut back my hours a bit..."

"If I take up a few more, it should balance out our income." Bilbo offers. "I've been getting more offers from higher paying commissioners lately, I think it could work."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Bilbo says, smiling to himself.

"Alright, we'll take about it more later, love. I think Kili's running around the house without his clothes on again. See you later tonight."

"Talk to you later, darling."

Sometimes Thorin was just nervous - he wanted reassurance that he was doing the right thing. Bilbo got like that, too, especially when it came to Kili and Fili. He was sure they'd move past this hesitant stage when the children were older, but it was a learning process.

Instead of worrying about it - because he wholly trusted Thorin with their children, no matter how nervous he became - he got back to work. This customer was really fussy, more so than Bilbo would have thought that morning. He wanted to get their commission done as soon as possible, or at least finish what he had scheduled for the night.

Still, it was rather late when he got another call from Thorin - this one surprised him. 

"Are you alright, love?"

Thorin let out a strangle sound. "Frodo is _crying_ and I don't know how to get him to stop and I have my boss waiting for me on the other phone-"

"Calm down, Thorin." Bilbo says, frowning in concern. "What's the matter with Frodo?"

"He won't go to sleep, I think he's too tired." Thorin says. "He keeps crying for you, and I really need to take this call..."

"What about Kill and Fili?"

"They're in bed, I've got Frodo downstairs with me."

Bilbo hums. "Alright, give him warmed milk and see if that helps. Is he in his pyjamas?"

"Yeah, he's got his blanket and that stuffed dog Dis gave him too. Won't let it go."

"Let him have it for now." Bilbo says. "Give him the milk and leave him on the beanbag for a bit. Take the call, and check on him again. If he's nodding off, put him to bed, but if not just carry him around for a little while. He'll fall asleep eventually."

"Okay. Okay, I got it." Thorin replies, taking in a deep breath. "Thank you, Bilbo."

"It's alright." Bilbo answers, voice soft. "I'll see you in a bit, I haven't got much more to go."

He really didn't - it only took another forty-five minutes for him to finish what he had scheduled, and that was only because he really wanted to go home to be with his family. 

He received one last call from Thorin that night, to tell him two things. The first was that Frodo had fallen asleep on his beanbag chair soon after being given warmed milk.

The second was that Thorin loved him very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by Keelythebiteykitty~
> 
> I've finally started organising the prompts I get so that they are no longer lost in the comments, thankfully~ I have a few left on my list (cause I won't do every single one I get, because there are some I just can't write ^_____T)
> 
> That being said, I am still open to suggestions for now~ My HSC exams start in October, but the gaps between them are pretty big, so I should be able to pace myself (hopefully~ ^^")


	25. Maelstrom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With dead parents and dead best friends, Bilbo isn't anyone special. Isn't a Jaeger Pilot.  
> One decent deed to a stranger in a nice jacket attempts to change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pacific Rim AU

When the Kaiju first attacked, Bilbo was just shy of seventeen years old. Both of his parents were killed.

When the Jaegers were discontinued and the four remaining machines were redeployed to Hong Kong, Bilbo was just shy of thirty years old. Three years prior, in another Kaiju attack, his best friends were killed.

Much like a growing storm, Bilbo had toughened over the years. While his cheeks and his hands had remained soft, especially in regards to his young nephew Frodo, he knew how to carry himself and how to outsmart people who were just as frustrated and full of pent-up rage as he was. 

Bilbo worked on the Coastal Wall. He wasn't any good at it - wasn't good at laborious jobs like that, wasn't any good at construction - but he got by. He worked more with the officials than anything, blueprinting drafts and fixing structural miscalculations. 

Before everything had come to this, come to the whole human race hiding behind a monstrous wall like _animals,_ Bilbo wanted to be a tailor. He was good at sewing, good at creating patterns - good at executing them, too. He could of done it. He would have been brilliant, too.

Now those skills were being applied to a dingy wall that he knew wouldn't work. The Kaiju were huge, were _powerful,_ and even without strength in numbers they had enough brute force to break through just about anything.

Anything but a Jaeger.

He didn't know how much longer he would be working. It wasn't that he was getting told to leave, but rather he was planning to. He knew his father had built his mother a little house in the middle of nowhere, way inland a long distance from the shore, and therefore the Kaiju. He didn't know if that would be a safe place, but it was better than here on the coast.

He had to protect Frodo.

He was all the child had left, and honestly, Frodo was all he had too. For Primula and Drogo, he'd protect Frodo, their precious child. Frodo was the only innocent thing in this world, the only untainted product of humans, a product of something pure and loving and generous and _right._

Still, working on the Coastal Wall was something that provided money. It wasn't glamorous, and he didn't enjoy it, but it paid enough for him to provide for Frodo. 

That was all he needed.

 

The sky was grey with smog and storm clouds when he begin began his trek home. Recently, a Jaeger had come to the city for minor repairs. Everyone seemed expontentionally more hopeful, which Bilbo found off-putting.

The streets of the city were generally dark and unwelcoming. Bilbo always walked home with a switchblade in his pocket, because it wasn't unlike some thug to come running at him. Most of them were drunk and reeked of desperation and something vaguely rotting, and could be scared off with the glint of a blade under a flickering, half-broken street lamp.

Tonight was different. There was something distinctly _dangerous_ on the wind. He walked down the streets with his hand stuffed in his pocket, fingers tight around the blade. Bilbo's house was in the nicer part of the district, if it could be called that. There wasn't as much crime down there, and it was more suburban. Bilbo's house probably had the best security - locks upon locks, a vicious dog in the front yard (his name was Acorn), some more locks, and a spiked gate (no one could crawl over it even if they were okay with the dog - the spikes were quite sharp).

The only reason he was able to leave Frodo at home alone for so long was because the toddler was unnervingly intelligent. He was self-sufficient, and very aware of his surroundings. He knew that if Acorn started to bark or get vicious he was to lock himself away in the panic room and call Bilbo from the burner phone he kept in there. 

It'd never happened, though. No one had ever tried to break into his house or hurt Frodo.

Bilbo liked to think it was because of Acorn.

But Acorn wasn't with him now, and the street he was passing was quiet, scarily so. Bilbo knew that a few streets over was the seediest part of the city - dodgy bars and brothels and drug cartels and other equally illegal institutions littered the street. He avoided that place, but that didn't mean people couldn't wander through the surrounding area in their drunken stupor.

He had no other way to get home, though. It was this way or the long way, and Frodo couldn't wait another few hours.

He felt stiff and tense when he finally came across the root of his problems. It was down a darkened alleyway, where the street lamps had long since been blown and the only light came from the distant roads and passing cars. 

Bilbo paused, and peered around the corner.

There were shadowed figures, at least seven of them. Most were stumbling around utterly drunk, probably high too, around a single man who looked to be wearing a rather well-made jacket - well-made especially considering the parts he was in. The man's shoulders were broad, his legs long and his thighs muscled. He looked disciplined. Bilbo didn't know what a person like that was doing in these parts.

Except getting himself beaten up, it seemed.

There were two things a person needed to survive on the streets at night - compliance, and fighting skills. _Keep your head down and your feet fast,_ that was what he always told Frodo. Never argue with someone dangerous, but don't back down, either. You got to be strong, baby. 

Of course, that kind of chivalrous streak of Bilbo's didn't do him any good in this situation. It was bad enough their species had to fight the Kaiju, what was the point in fighting each other, too?

That sort of mentality really got to him. He hated it - it was a weakness, but he couldn't just stand back and watch some guy get beaten up just because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It wasn't _right._

"What are you doing down here?" He asked, hands shoved in his pockets as he stood at the entrance way. He was sort of afraid, because he wasn't really all that brave and being afraid meant being realistic, but he wasn't the type to back down either. 

"Run along home, kid." One of the guy slurred.

Another jabbed him in the ribs. "Ay, isn't that that _Baggins_ guy? With the dog!"

"I don't see no dog."

Bilbo frowned, and ran his thumb along the blade in his pocket. "Go home." He said. "All of you. You're drunk off your asses."

"I don't think I want to." One grinned, eyes manic. His teeth were yellowed, and filthy - the product of excess alcohol, no doubt. 

Bilbo barely had time to duck as a fist flew towards his face. He gritted his teeth, and ducked under the arm as the guy stumbled forwards. Quickly, before he had time to gain his balance, Bilbo gripped the guy's wrist and yanked it back as he inevitably tripped over Bilbo's boot.

There was a satisfying crack as the drunkard's shoulder dislodged, and his scream was quickly quietened when he passed out and Bilbo dropped him to the floor. 

Bilbo stared, letting out a harsh breath as he turned back to look at the other idiots in the alleyway. The one with the nice jacket watched him curiously, and boy was he handsome - though Bilbo evidently had no time to think about that as an all out brawl began.

_Really, what morons!_

Bilbo couldn't help but scowl as another guy rushed straight towards him. He ducked, and stepped backwards as a fist flew over his head. His back ran into something, and he knew it was the man in the good jacket. Somehow he knew they were on the same side in this stupid fight - that neither of them would flake.

For a moment, something seemed to _prod_ at his mind. Like warm fingers, something began to sift through his thoughts as though they were folders, never dipping in but instead just... lingering.

It was surreal, but he didn't feel like he was in his own body for a moment.

That passed faster than he could comprehend, and then he was completely distracted by the drunk men in front of him. One swung at him again, but much like the first he fell to his face with a moderately well aimed punch to the jaw. 

The distinctive _shink_ of a knife being flipped sent chills down his spine. Bilbo spun, saw a man with a scar down his cheek advance on Bilbo's fighting partner, and Bilbo lunged forwards, all the while drawing his own blade.

For a moment, their blades glinted off one another, like from some ridiculous action movie. Bilbo was physically weaker than this guy, even though he was full of alcohol, and as his arms shook with the effort he suddenly drew back and lunged forwards again.

His blade sunk into the guy's shoulder with a wet squelch. The guy screamed, and stagged back. Bilbo clutched his blade tight, mindless of the blood.

He knew it would be a superficial wound, he wasn't strong enough to pierce anywhere near the bone, didn't have the right momentum-

But it was enough to make the guy run, leaving both Bilbo and the man behind.

Bilbo grimaced, and shook his blade to clear the blood off as much as he could. It wasn't every day he stabbed a guy, but this wasn't the first time he'd done it. People knew his name for a reason.

"You alright?" The guy asked.

Bilbo flinched, gasping mutely as a cold sensation ran over his mind. "Fine." He bit out, turning his eyes away to wipe the blade on his pants.

When he looked back up, the guy was gone.

Bilbo just scowled deeper. "Gee, what a nice fellow."

 

Though it was difficult, Bilbo eventually forgot about the guy he fought with - forced him to become a memory, something to eventually forget.

Until he suddenly showed up again.

At Bilbo's _work._

And with a bunch of government officials from the PPDC to boot! 

His boss wasn't amused, to say the least, but there was no way Bilbo could deny them, not when they wished to speak to him. They drew him aside, and he almost felt like he was being cornered.

"We're Drift compatible."

Bilbo was surprised to hear the first thing that was told to him was something like that. _Drift compatible?_

"I'm sorry?" He frowned, taking a step back. "I've never been in a Jaeger, haven't even had the training, and you think we're drift compatible?"

"I don't think we are." The guy retorted, frowning at Bilbo too. "I know we are. I felt it."

"You must be joking." Bilbo shook his head again. "What do you want from me? I've got work to do."

"Come to the facility." The man said. "Come do the training, get in a Jaeger. I know we can Drift."

"I don't even know your name!"

"It's Thorin Oakenshield."

"That doesn't make me any more convinced."

Thorin stared at him fixedly. "Come do it, and I can guarantee the safety of your nephew."

Bilbo felt his hackles rise. "Leave my child out of this." He snarled. "He's none of your concern."

"Pilot with me," Thorin said. "And he will never be in danger again."

 

Frodo was a warm weight against his side as Bilbo held the toddler on his hip, one arm looped under his legs. The other hand was clutching a worn leash, clipped to Acorn's collar, who growled and snarled at anyone that strayed too close.

Bilbo didn't feel safe in the PPDC facility. There were too many people - all trained, all fighters in some manner - and there were too many places he wasn't spatially aware of.

The promise of safety for Frodo was what eventually bribed him here. They were given their own quarters, annoyingly in the same place as all the remaining Jaeger pilots, but it was the safest place to be. There was someone to permanently watch over Frodo now, too, a woman named Tauriel who could be scarier than Thorin if she wished too. Once Acorn understood she was not a threat, once she had gained Bilbo's trust, then Bilbo started the training.

They didn't need to go over much with him. Mostly tactics and the neurological training - street fighting was rough and uncouth, yes, but not useless. He could fight if he needed to, could concentrate and focus enough to outlast the other candidates who were taller and wider and bigger than him.

Overall, it only took about a month before he was being readied for the neurological handshake with Thorin.

"So this is your Jaeger." He said, as Thorin led him into the underground bunker where the Jaegers were kept. 

Thorin eyed him curiously. "Yes, this is _The Lonely Mountain._ Over there is _Eryn Lasgalen."_ He gestured to the other Jaegers with a raised hand. "That one there is _Imladris,_ and the last one at the end is _Dark Sorcery."_

"What an ominous name." Bilbo mused, eyeing up the darkly painted Jaeger. "It looks..."

"It malfunctions." Thorin told him. "A lot. More pilots have been injured or killed in that Jaeger than any other from the last few years. It's like it's cursed."

"And yours?" Bilbo questioned. _"The Lonely Mountain?_ How many people has it taken?"

Thorin is silent for a moment, and Bilbo got the distinct impression that he'd done something very wrong.

Thorin glanced at him, eyes dark. "Just one." He murmured. "You'll be in my head soon enough, so don't get ahead of yourself."

Bilbo chose not to say anything in return, though he knows he could.

Thorin's words just reminded him that he'd be in a Drift tomorrow.

It was a terrifying thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erebor is also known as The Lonely Mountain.  
> Mirkwood is also known as Eryn Lasgalen.  
> Rivendell is also known as Imladris.  
> Dol Guldur is also known as the Hill of Dark Sorcery.


	26. Maelstrom Pt.II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dead people didn't stay dead when he entered the Drift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pacific Rim AU

On the day of his first Drift trial run, Bilbo woke early. He wasn't nervous, but he wasn't entirely sure that he was compatible with Thorin. They hardly got along, and Thorin appeared to have no interest in him if the Jaegers weren't concerned. 

He spent the morning with Frodo and Tauriel. The woman had grown remarkably fond of his little nephew, which Bilbo didn't think was all that difficult, not with Frodo's big baby blues. Together with the toddler, Tauriel, and Acorn tied tightly on his leash, they made their way to the mess hall for an early breakfast.

"Are you nervous?" Tauriel asked, glancing down at him. Her eyes were inquisitive. Bilbo wondered if she wanted to pilot a Jaeger herself.

"Not particularly." Bilbo answered. "I don't quite believe it's going to work, actually."

"Why not?"

"Well I've hardly had the training, for a start." Bilbo snorted, as he lifted a spoonful of kind of soggy cereal to Frodo's mouth. "Not to mention Thorin isn't the first person I'd want in my head. He's not very... well, not very sociable."

Tauriel chuckled, eyeing Acorn as the dog stood guard behind Frodo. "I can't say much, because it's not my place, but he is one of the best pilots we've ever worked with. No one has beat his stats yet, especially not in Drift Compatibility." 

"I suppose I've got a lot to live up to." Bilbo mused sourly. "I wouldn't count on me being able to Drift with him, Tauriel." Bilbo said. "I know you're one of the technicians, so I understand your need for compatible and deployable Jaeger Pilots, but I'm just not confident that it's me you need."

Tauriel laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Won't know until you try."

"And if I can't control it?"

"Thorin will."

"And if he can't?"

"Then we'll pull the plug."

Bilbo glanced away, and allowed Acorn to growl at Tauriel, to warn her hand away. He offered Frodo another spoonful of food, and smiled faintly at Frodo's little giggles. _What are you so happy about, baby? Always so happy._

"I'll try, Tauriel. I already said I would." Bilbo told her. "No promises."

 

The Drivesuit Room was the highest point in the Shatterdome. 

Bilbo stood alone in the room, standing like a mannequin - still, and vaguely lifeless - as a team of Drivesuit technicians started piecing him into the polycarbonate shell and circuitry suit of a Ranger. They worked with efficiency, and no embarrassment, despite being so up and personal with Bilbo - in accordance to structured time restraints, they have less than seven minutes to outfit the Jaeger Pilots.

Even if this was to test Drift Compatibility in a real Jaeger, they moved fast. It was unnerving.

Quicker than Bilbo would have expected, the Drivesuit was installed over his circuitry suit. It was a type of body armour that he knew would help him interface with the Jaeger and protect his body from injury sustained during a confrontation.

After that, Bilbo was lead into the Conn-Pod. _The Lonely Mountain_ felt a lot more intimidating from inside the cockpit. Even so, from here, Bilbo felt... _powerful._

"Second pilot on board." A computerised voice stated.

"I'm taking the right side." Thorin said, glancing at Bilbo dismissively. "You're on the left."

Bilbo ignored him, and adjusted the helmet over his head. He was quickly locked into the motion rig, and then his feet, tucked tightly away in Ranger boots, are prompted into the gear locks. 

He felt like a puppet. 

"Can you hear me, Bilbo?"

Bilbo startled at the voice that filled his ears. "Tauriel?"

"You can, good."

"Where's Frodo?"

"Your room, he's got Acorn. Your heart rate spiked, you feeling okay?"

"Fine."

"Calm down, then. You've got nothing to fear, except that dog of yours leaving his stench all over your bed."

Bilbo snorted, but took her advice. He diverted his attention to listening to the ongoing dialogue, trying to discern how close to the Drift trial run he was getting.

 _"The Lonely Mountain,_ trial run." A computerised voice echoed through the cockpit again. 

"Harnesses set to test mode." Thorin said. "Second pilot in place."

"Prepare for Neural Handshake." The Marshall, a woman named Dis, stated. 

"Initiating Neural Handshake." Tauriel repeated. 

The Jaeger whirled to life beneath his feet as the support systems were drawn away. Bilbo rocked with the motion of the machine, and tried not to think about how he couldn't wipe away the fog of his breath on the inside of the helmet. 

The computerised voice was saying something again, but it wasn't directed at him. He couldn't concentrate on it properly, instead finding himself overwhelmed by the world of mechanics surrounding him. He could understand it, could read and work it with ease, but it was unlike anything he had ever seen. It was impressive. 

Thorin glanced over at him, drawing Bilbo's attention. "Don't chase the rabbit." He muttered.

 _Random Access Brain Impulse Triggers..._ Bilbo's mind helpfully supplied him. They were memories that Pilots attached onto - it was a bad thing to happen, was discouraging, was dangerous. Getting lost in one would lead to a Pilot becoming trapped in the memory, regardless of whose it was, and any motion their body carried out would be translated into action for the Jaeger.

_Very dangerous..._

"... initiated." The computerised voice finished.

Bilbo closed his eyes.

 

At first, it was flashes. They went on and on, memories that were his, memories that weren't. It was mesmerising.

Until it wasn't.

 

_He was young, and the baby was so small. Golden hair, a rare trait in his family._

_"This is Frerin." A strange, but familiar voice told him. "He's your brother."_

 

_"Bilbo, my little honeybee, won't you join me?"_

_Her hand was soft, inviting. He laughed, a young, joyous giggle that echoed more than it should in a garden like theirs. She did too, laugh that is, and drew him closer to her, ignoring the dirt beneath their feet and the sun bearing down warmly on their backs._

 

_"Thorin, you oaf, get to it already!"_

_"Frerin, don't get cocky."_

_"We're Jaeger Pilots, we're allowed to be!"_

 

His smile was so wide, almost radiant. They dressed in the same Drivesuits, wore the same helmets. They moved in complete harmony. Bilbo had never seen anything like it, never _felt_ anything like it. 

 

_"Bilbo, do you want to read with me?"_

_"Papa..." He sniffled._

_"It's late, darling, did you have a nightmare? Come read with me, it'll make you feel all better."_

 

Bilbo gasped and struggled to surface from the haze in his head as his eyes flickered open. 

"Right hemisphere calibrated." The computerised voice stated. 

Bilbo glanced down at his hand, and felt the machine response. His breathing didn't slow, but his mind felt like it was expanding, encompassing the entire Jaeger.

_It's alive...!_

Through the clicking and whirring noises, Bilbo heard the voice echo, "Left hemisphere calibrated." It struck him then, that that was him - the left hemisphere. He was controlling a _Jaeger,_ he was a part of it.

Thorin, too.

Thorin was there, like a little pocket in his head, breathing, echoing like a second heartbeat. 

"Ready to activate the Jaeger." The computer said.

Instinctively, Bilbo took a fighting stance. A hum of pleasure shot through him as the Jaeger complied. He didn't realise he had mimicked Thorin so well - no, not mimicked, they acted _together._

"Calibration complete."

Bilbo relaxed his stance, breathing out deeply even as his heart continued to race. Maybe he could do this after all. 

Suddenly, something painful jabbed at his mind. He cried out in surprise, and then he was dumped into a memory.

 

_"Thorin, Thorin listen to me-"_

_A huge jaw ripped into the hull of the Jaeger. Teeth bigger than him snapped in the air, ripping the golden-haired pilot straight from the Motion rigging._

_"Frerin!" He screamed. Something cold and dark swam through the Drift, like molten ash. It burned his throat and split his head in two, and then there were memories spilling through, overwhelming him, drowning him-!_

 

_A little sister, hair raven-dark, looked up at him. He was finally a big brother, too, just like Thorin._

 

_"We're compatible, big brother!" He laughed. This is what he wanted - this connection, this level of trust. He yearned for it, revelled in it. Nothing had ever felt so fulfilling._

 

_"Frerin, I can hear you brooding from up here." A voice in the dark whispered._

_"You can't hear people brood, Thorin." He whispered back as he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He felt choked, a little. Like he wanted to cry._

_A pregnant pause filled the room._

_Thorin's top bunk creaked._

_"Are we gonna die out there?" He asked the dark._

_"Of course not." Thorin answered. His hand dropped over the edge of the bunk. Frerin latched onto it. "We're Jaeger pilots, and we're invincible, aren't we?"_

_Frerin's face scrunched up. He didn't want to cry. His grip on Thorin wavered._

_"If we go," Thorin whispered, low and gentle and deep, "then we go together."_

 

_"Thorin," Frerin screamed desperately, "Thorin, listen to me-"_

_Cold, cold cold, why is it so cold? Help, oh my god, please help me, it's got me-_

_Help me, Thorin! Thorin! Thorin, please, oh my god, save me, don't let me die-_

_I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to di-_

 

_Thorin screamed. "Frerin!"_

 

"Pilot out of alignment."

"He's out." Tauriel said, swinging around to furiously hit buttons. The Jaeger jolted in front of her eyes, like it was preparing for battle. Her heart staggered. 

"Both out of alignment."

Her head snapped up, and for a moment she was motionless.

"Both?" Dis repeated, a furrow appearing in her brow. She comes to hover over Tauriel, peering at the holograms and the screens full of data in front of her. 

"Both." Tauriel reiterated with a grimace, standing to grip the microphone tightly. _"The Lonely Mountain,_ do you hear me? You’re out of alignment, the both of you. Get yourselves together!"

 

A loud beeping filled Bilbo’s head. _Alignment?_ A voice echoed in his head, over and over. He didn’t know whose voice it was anymore. His own? 

"Bilbo, do you hear me? Listen to me, Bilbo, you’re out of alignment, you’ve got to focus."

"Bilbo." This voice was deeper, more strangled. "Don’t chase the rabbit, Bilbo."

Don’t chase the…

 

_Ash rained down from the storm-grey sky, eerily silent. Bilbo’s ears were ringing ringing ringing-_

_"Oh god, someone help!"_

_"My little honeybee…" She croaked._

_"Mama!" He screamed, throat raw. He was not even seventeen yet, not old enough to live without her, still wanted to be sheltered by her loving wings._

_"Please, please, please please…" He sobbed, clutching, futile, at her hand. It was slick and red and everything smelt like copper. The city was little more than a children’s playground, now, like building blocks that had been toppled down by an errant hand._

_"Bilbo…"_

_That was his Papa, his kind and gentle father-_

_"Please!" He begged. Please don’t leave me alone, I can’t- I don’t know what to do, please please please please please-_

_And then they were gone, crushed under the weight of the ceiling, chunks of concrete and metal beams and the weight of an amphibious monster than bore down on the them all._

 

_"Welcome home, Bilbo." Drogo smiled, placing a familial hand on his shoulder, like any close sibling would._

_"It’s so nice to have you." Primula smiled too, smiled like the sunshine, and drew him into her home. Her stomach was large, filled to bursting with life. It wouldn’t be long now._

_When he woke screaming, they were there for him._

_"You’ll never be alone again, Bilbo." Drogo told him, as Primula smoothed back his damp hair from his forehead and used a worn handkerchief to dry his cheeks. "We’re family, and family stays together. You’ll never be alone."_

 

_"His name is Frodo…"_

_"He’s so beautiful."_

_"Won’t you be his godfather?"_

_"I finally have hope. I see it in him, you know. He can hardly even lift his head, and yet I see the hopes of the world, resting gently on his shoulders… just look at him, he doesn’t even notice."_

 

_"Primula, please." Bilbo begged, begged again and again, begging always, always begging begging begging._

_Primula wasn’t Primula anymore. She was half of Primula, the other half was strewn across the concrete._

_Again, the city smelt like copper._

 

_"Bilbo, please…"_

_Bilbo sobbed. "Not again, please not again. You’re all I have, please Drogo, cousin, please please, don’t go."_

_"Bilbo, please…"_

_Bilbo cried, screaming, as he collapsed beside the man. Blood pooled around his knees. He was sure that Drogo wasn’t completely Drogo anymore, either. There was too much blood._

_He threw up as he wrenched the unconscious infant from his loving father’s dead arms._

 

 _The Lonely Mountain_ lunged forwards as Bilbo’s heart rate spiked.

"Go to failsafe!" Tauriel screamed as lights start flashing, and all her equipment starts to give out warning beeps. "Go to failsafe!"

"Fail safe not responding!" A technician shouted.

Tauriel gritted her teeth, and lunged at the control boards. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

"Shut it down before the weapons’ system is engaged!" Dis commanded as she stalked across the room. 

"Bilbo’s connection is messing with the neural blocker." Tauriel said, jamming down buttons in an attempt to shut off the Drift. She latched onto the microphone. "Thorin! Thorin, can you hear me?"

"Yes! What’s happening?"

"Bilbo’s too far gone, your Drift is insanely compatible. You gotta get him back to consciousness before the weapons’ system is engaged!"

"And how do I do that?" Thorin snarled.

Dis leaned over Tauriel and took the microphone. "You got him into this." She snarled right back. "It’s your repressed memories that destabilised him, because you were too stubborn to get the problem fixed! So help me Thorin, if you don’t-"

"I got it." He shouted. "I’ll fix it."

 

_Bilbo sobbed as he cradled Frodo. The child was so small, so weightless._

_Overhead, a team of helicopters flew a formless, mechanic shape across the city. A Jaeger._

_"It’s too late." He cried, digging a hand into his hair hard enough to tear out the roots. "They’re dead! They’re all dead, it’s too late!"_

 

"Bilbo, calm down. This isn’t real."

 

_"It’s too late…" He echoed pitifully, choking on his sobs as he hunched forwards. Small pieces of debris rained from the ruined buildings above him as a tremendous roar shook all the remaining intact windows._

_The sounds of war seemed to rip right through him._

 

"Bilbo, listen to me. It’s not real – focus on my voice. Remember me?"

 

_I can’t, it’s too late, too late…_

 

"It’s never too late, Bilbo. Not for everyone. Come back to me, come back and pilot with me. No one will ever have to get hurt again. I can’t promise you will never be alone, and I can’t promise you’ll ever regain what you lost. But I can promise no one will ever feel like this again."

 

"He’s stabilising." Tauriel said breathlessly, leaning back into her chair. "How is he doing that? He’s stabilising."

"Drift sequence terminated." The computer told her. "Would you like to try again?"

She shut it off.

 

Bilbo’s eyes were already open, but only then was he able to actually _see._

The lights of the Jaeger cockpit focused before his eyes after a few moments. He felt like he’d been scrubbed raw, exposed right to the very core, all the way from his skin to his subconscious. For a moment, he felt like he would be able to stand, but then his knees buckled.

Arms wound around his body, cradling him from the impact of the floor. Hands fiddled with his helmet, and then it was being torn off and tossed aside.

A voice was calling his name, but he didn’t realise at first. But then he saw Thorin, and those damn pretty eyes, and suddenly everything came into focus.

"I’m sorry." Thorin whispered, like he thought Bilbo couldn’t hear him. Instead, when he knew Bilbo could, he said, "It’s okay, it’s going to be okay."

Bilbo believed him. 

 

"That was your brother, wasn’t it?" Bilbo asked, voice quiet, as he sat on the edge of an infirmary cot. He spared a thought towards Frodo, because he should have been back at least eight hours ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

He didn’t see Thorin nod, but he sensed it. It was an odd sensation.

"You were connected when he-" Bilbo swallowed heavily, as if it were his own pain filling his throat. "You were brothers." He said instead, voice wavering.

Thorin was sitting on the other side of the cot, his back to Bilbo. There were several inches between them, but Bilbo felt like it was nothing. "I’m sorry for your loss." Thorin told him.

 _That’s right,_ Bilbo thought to himself, _he saw my memories too._

"I’m sorry." Thorin said again. 

"It wasn’t your fault." Bilbo answered, because he knows Thorin was about to blame himself. He doesn’t know how he knew that, but he could sense it, sense it somewhere deep in his head.

"They call it a Ghost Drift." Thorin supplied. "Leftover affects from time in the Jaegers."

Bilbo hummed. It went both ways, then. 

"Your nephew…" Thorin started.

"He’s all I have left." Bilbo said. His eyelids felt swollen and heavy. He wanted to sleep, but his mind was too keyed up, too electrified, too burned. He felt like it was Thorin that had burned it.

"Does your head hurt?" Thorin asked.

"I hope that I’m burning you, too." Bilbo murmured.

Thorin is silent again. 

_I need you here with me,_ Bilbo tried to tell him. _You’re in my head now, and you’re sick and tired and I am too. I’m not fireproof, and neither are you, so stop burning us. It hurts, can’t you feel it? What do I do?_

Thorin reached a hand back, silent.

Wordlessly, Bilbo latched onto it, and tried not to tremble. He was so tired. 

"If you go,” Bilbo said, speaking in tones of finality, “then I go too, so don’t go running off anywhere I can’t follow, alright?"

Thorin nodded.

Bilbo nodded as well, more to himself than to Thorin. He let out a deep breath that had been congealing like a storm in his lungs, and allowed himself to fall, resting against Thorin’s back.

In his head, his thoughts were swimming, and falling, falling, falling…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a monster to edit - especially with all the Italics @.@
> 
> I'm actually a little proud of this chapter~ ^^"


	27. The Importance Of Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo wakes up to find that he can't see his toes.

It was no secret that Hobbits of all genders could conceive. To Dwarves, that was something extremely uncommon - their females struggled to conceive, and males could not bear a child at all.

Bilbo knew about his bearing capacities, but he hadn't thought he was still particularly fertile. Not to mention he had no idea that a Hobbit and a Dwarf could be compatible in that way, and yet...

Well, they were, to say the least.

Dwarven gestation periods were typically two months longer than a Hobbit's. Bilbo didn't know if nine months in the womb would be enough for his child to safely grow, as that was for a Hobbit Fauntling and not a Dwarven baby, but by the eight month mark he didn't know if he would even reach that.

He expected a Dwarven child to be bigger than a Hobbit child. He had hoped his child would be bigger, too, not only for the extra strength against immune diseases and the cold of Erebor, but because then the child would be a little bit more like Thorin.

Still, by the time the eight month rolled around, he was _huge._

The morning he woke up to find he couldn't see his feet, not even with all the squirming and sucking in he could afford, he was well and truly _done_ with being pregnant.

"Thorin." He says after the whole foot revelation, "Thorin, wake up."

His lover was still comfortably asleep on their spacious bed. His hair was wild and tangled, covering his face in loose strands rather handsomely. He looked rather peaceful, but Bilbo had no time for any morning admirations. 

"Thorin, wake up." He reached back, one hand holding the curve of his stomach, to shake Thorin's shoulder. "I can't see my feet, Thorin."

Thorin, to his credit, always woke when Bilbo called for him. His eyes, dark and diluted with sleep, open and eventually land on Bilbo where he's seated on the edge of the bed. "Bilbo, you alright love?"

Bilbo lets out a huffing breath, frowning. "I can't see my feet, Thorin." He stresses. 

Thorin pushes himself upright, and crawls over to drape himself across Bilbo's shoulders. "You are pregnant." He says. "It was likely going to happen eventually, love. Why is it upsetting you?"

"I'm a Hobbit, Thorin." Bilbo tries not to whine, he really does - he blames it all on the hormones. "Feet are _important,_ and I can't see mine anymore!"

Thorin hums. "Don't stress yourself, Bilbo." He says soothingly, running his warm hands up and down Bilbo's arms. "Your feet will be fine."

"I won't be able to see where I walk!"

"I'll guide you."

"I won't be able to brush them, either."

"I'll brush them."

"I don't like being so dependant on you." Bilbo murmurs. "I feel like I'm crippled."

"You're pregnant, love." Thorin tells him, dipping a hand down to rub against the widest part of Bilbo's stomach. "With my child, no less. It is my joy and honour to service you in anything you need assistance in."

"Still..."

"This child is going to be big, Bilbo." Thorin tells him, pressing a kiss to the tip of Bilbo's ear. "I know that... that if it were a completely Hobbit child, then you would have no issues. I am partly to blame for any discomfort you feel, so if I can alleviate that, I will."

Bilbo sinks into his embrace. "It's not your fault." He tells Thorin. "I didn't know I'd get pregnant. To be honest, I thought I wasn't fertile anymore, and I didn't believe we were compatible as a species. That's not your fault."

Thorin hums again. 

"But your child is huge." Bilbo agrees. "I hate to think of how big I'll get before I have no choice but to induce labour."

Thorin chuckles. "Hopefully a natural birth will come before that."

"I'm doubtful, if I'm already so big I can't see my toes."

Thorin kisses the tip of his ear again. "How about we stay in bed today?" He asks. "Just you and me. I could do with the relaxation, if you're willing..."

"I could be tempted..."

Thorin laughs quietly, the kind of deep, rumbling laughter that Bilbo could feel reverberating through his chest. "I suppose I best go find breakfast to lure my lover into bed with me."

Bilbo laughs. "I suppose you must!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested by Keelythebiteykitty~


	28. Worth Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We should just... should just run away."

He didn't like doing this, this _hiding,_ this _deception._ It didn't feel right, didn't feel good. 

But to have those few moments where he could hold Thorin's hand, cuddle against Thorin's side, to not feel like he was a bad person for loving another man-

It was worth it, worth all the suffering and the humiliation and the headaches he got from crying himself to sleep. 

Thorin was worth it.

 

He didn't like doing this, this _hiding,_ this _deception._ It didn't feel right, didn't feel good.

He thought it was worth it, to be able to hold Bilbo, his Bilbo. His darling little lover, with the biggest eyes and the softest hair and the most fragile soul.

He loved nothing more than cradling his lover in his arms, sharing stolen moments with him where he could do nothing more than admire Bilbo for the beautiful person he was.

It was worth it, worth all the sleepless nights and the stressful days and the aching in his chest when he saw the longing and pain in Bilbo's eyes.

Bilbo was worth it.

 

"We should just... should just run away." Bilbo says, cradled in the crook of Thorin's arm as they laid together at an abandoned park. It was completely isolated.

"Should we?" Thorin replies, pressing his lips against Bilbo's cold cheek over and over, as many times as he could.

Bilbo nods, glancing up at him. His eyes reflected the stars up in the night sky, and Thorin thought that maybe the whole world was in them.

"I'm ready whenever you are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally hit a total of 300,000+ words (only counting what I've posted on AO3) last night~ not all Bagginshield, but probably about 95% of it all is them ^^"
> 
> Tomorrow is my interview for early entry into university, I'm kind of nervous ╏ ˵ ✪ ﹏ ✪ ˵ ╏


	29. Tunnel Vision Haunts You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is haunted by an old obsession.

Thorin remembers him - a boy he was infatuated with when he was young and reckless and foolhardy. A boy with curls the colour of honey and eyes that carried the weight of the entire world in them.

He doesn't know what happened to that boy. 

 

When Thorin was twenty, four years after they'd been separated, he thought he saw the boy again. Fleetingly, mixed amongst a crowd of faceless people on a busy street, going about his own business.

He chased the retreating figure, chased and chased and chased, but the boy wasn't there.

Wasn't there at all.

 

He was twenty-two when he woke up during the middle of the night to the feel of someone holding his hand. The grip was familiar and warm and felt impossibly _real._

"Impossibly", because there was no one in the room at all.

 

He was twenty-three when someone broke into his apartment. The door was open, and he entered pensively, thinking the worst.

A strange scent filled his home. Something soft and natural and comforting and familiar. Something that reminded him of tea and morning sunshine and the feeling of lounging around in bed until lunch time. 

Nothing was stolen, nothing was out of place or move or misplaced. No one was there.

 

Six months later and he knew the boy was here. He didn't know how, but it was driving him crazy - familiar scents that provoked memories he thought were once lost, a flash of curly hair out of the corner of his eyes, the feeling that someone was watching him all the time-

And the fact that he didn't mind it...

It was delirious.

 

He stopped going to work, at one point, didn't even notice. Eventually his fridge ran out of food too, but he didn't notice that either.

All he could see was that boy he was so infatuated with. They'd spent so long together when they were younger, completely absorbed in nothing but their own world, oblivious and naïve and adventurous.

It had been like the entire world opened up to them, to them _together,_ like they would never need to know anyone else because they'd found the one person who would _always chose them._

It hadn't lasted.

 

Thorin's insanity lasted. He closed himself away, and tried to turn back time so that he could be young and reckless and foolhardy again.

One night he woke and the boy was _there-_

Was tangible, was warm and breathing, was smiling. And oh he beautiful he was, how his eyes still had the world in them and Thorin would never ever need to look away. He was _right there-!_

 

"Thorin, you have to get help." She told him. There was a disapproving turn in her lips, a sort of disappointment that told him that something was wrong.

But there was nothing wrong, nothing wrong until a strange newspaper turned up on his nightstand. 

 

It wasn't from his state, but it was there nevertheless. The paper was worn, and it was only a single page. It looked like someone had held it for hours, hunched over it, maybe even rubbed their thumb along the picture nestled between columns of writing.

 _"Mysterious Death,"_ it read. 

Thorin didn't need to read the article, because just holding the slim paper in his hands told him everything he needed to know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I'm very tired today ^___T
> 
> But I think my interview went well, at least! The lecturer was very surprised that I'd (successfully) undertaken this project, he seemed very impressed~ I hope I get in, haha ^^"


	30. Adore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin has a thing for cute boys in sweaters that were just a little too big on them.

Thorin has a thing for cute boys in sweaters that were just a little too big on them. He wouldn't call it a type, exactly, because he only really developed such a taste for it when a certain _darling little creature started wearing them-_

But that wasn't the point, really. The point was, Thorin thought that sweaters really suited one curly haired Bilbo Baggins. The sweaters were always soft and generally neutral in colour and always fell across his hands into what Dis liked to affectionately call "sweater paws".

_Sweater paws._

As if he couldn't get any more unfairly appealing. 

He'd been friends with Bilbo for a long time. They went to the same high school, and were in the same university. They even shopped at the same grocery store.

Thorin had always found Bilbo oddly attractive - he never acted on that, though, because Bilbo was ridiculously insecure and kind of sensitive and very introverted, and Thorin didn't want him to think that he only wanted to be friends with him to get in his pants.

Not to say that Thorin didn't - and boy were those pants rather shapely, if Thorin may say so - but he liked Bilbo for _Bilbo,_ not his body.

Bilbo wasn't really fond of his body, for that matter - hated it, actually. He thought he was overweight and hideous, and only saw someone he didn't want to be in the mirror.

Thorin didn't think that. Bilbo wasn't thin - he had soft edges and thighs that touched and chubby cheeks. He _was_ chubby, but that didn't make him unattractive. 

Thorin thought it only made him _more_ attractive, but Bilbo couldn't see it.

Not even when he wore those cute sweaters and had sweater paws.

They weren't really dating, but they weren't really platonic, either. Thorin didn't know what they were, but he knew he wouldn't mind being something more.

If he had the chance, then he'd find himself cuddling up to Bilbo. He loved when it was winter - not just because a fluffy scarf was added to the sweater appeal - but because then he had an excuse to throw an arm around Bilbo's shoulders, and to sit a little closer than normal. He rather enjoyed their movie nights, too, because then he could lay across Bilbo with the pretence of lying down, and he could rest his cheek on Bilbo's thighs without Bilbo really noticing his ulterior motives.

They went out to eat together a lot, too, and always met up in the morning for coffee before class. Thorin liked to think they were really close, and he hoped Bilbo found him at least a little bit attractive. He sometimes thought his nose was too big for his face, his lips too thin, and that maybe he should get a haircut because not everyone found longer hair on a man attractive, not with all the low-ponytails and buns in the world-

Thorin knew Bilbo could of had anyone he wanted, but he hoped Bilbo wanted him. 

He didn't know how to approach the topic of dating. He felt like they already were, just without the kissing and the endless hand-holding and the affectionate cuddling. He didn't want to ruin what he had with Bilbo already, but he sometimes wished for more.

Sometimes dreamed for more, too, and in his dreams he always got it - but he didn't think about those, or at least tried not to.

Whatever happened, he just wanted to make Bilbo happy. 

 

Thorin had introduced his friends and siblings to Bilbo before. His sister, Dis, was rather taken with him, and Thorin was pleased to know they got along well. Frerin, his younger brother, got along well with just about everyone, but had a it of a habit of being over enthusiastic about _everything,_ which included people Thorin were friends with.

Both his siblings knew about his feelings for Bilbo. Some of his friends, too - they called him "painfully obvious" even though he knew Bilbo was none the wiser. 

Either way, Bilbo (and Bilbo's friends) were much the same as Thorin (and Thorin's friends). They got together sometimes, and were more like one group than two separate groups. A lot of the time they organised movie nights and outings to the beach - Bilbo didn't enjoy the latter one too much, but he always came, reluctant to miss out.

That's where they were now, out on the beach with a fairly large group of friends. The both of them knew everyone, and a lot of them were related - Thorin and his siblings were present, as were Dwalin and his older brother Balin, and the Ri brothers, to say the least.

Thorin and Bilbo shared a large umbrella, with their towels laid on the sand next to one another. Bilbo was wearing shorts and a loose shirt that looked rather comfortable. He had a book clutched in his hands, as he usually did, and had previously allowed Thorin to twist a braid into his hair down the side of his head and tie it up out of his eyes (and to help with the sand that was inevitably going to wind up in it). 

It wasn't a particularly warm day, because it was more autumn than summer now, but Thorin had chosen to forgo a shirt and just wear shorts so that he could swim. 

"Want to go in the water?" Thorin asks hopefully, reaching out to tip down the corner of Bilbo's book, garnering his attention. 

Bilbo glances at him, and shakes his head. 

Thorin shrugs, unwilling to push him, and heads for the water by himself. 

He didn't stay in there for long. The water was cold now that the months were turning, and after he'd messed around with Dwalin and a few of his other friends for a bit, he went back to Bilbo.

Predictably, Bilbo was still reading, but when Thorin peered a little closer he could of sworn Bilbo's chubby cheeks were bright red, right up to the tips of his ears.

 

At their next movie night, Bilbo was surprisingly pliant. He let Thorin drape himself around Bilbo, arm around his shoulders, hand on his waist. It surprised Thorin, because Bilbo would usually shy away from such affectionate touches, certainly would never _lean into them._

Thorin wasn't complaining, though, oh no. He revelled in it. 

Sitting with Bilbo pulled into his side allowed him to discover a whole new range of things. Like the way Bilbo was so soft and warm after his body temperature seeped through his clothes, how his curls still smelled like the gentle-smelling shampoo he used, and when they were this close Thorin could feel the rhythmic expansion of Bilbo's chest as he breathed in and out...

His heart ached something fierce. He _wanted_ this, wanted it always, for as long as Bilbo willingly permitted it.

Half way through the movie Thorin got up to refill their drinks and make more popcorn. One of them always did it, but this time it was Thorin, because they were at his apartment. 

He came back and Bilbo was in a different position, curled up against the arm of the couch. Anyone else would have taken that as a bad sign, but Thorin knew Bilbo well, knew that Bilbo hadn't closed himself off, not yet.

Thorin ended up laying down on the couch, his head in Bilbo's lap, like he so often did. Bilbo's thighs were soft and comfortable - Thorin likened them to a pillow in his head a lot, and tried not to think about the flashes of pale skin he'd seen when Bilbo worse shorts and lifted his knees up innocently (thereby exposing said skin).

He thinks he fell asleep, though the movie wasn't that boring. He was just so comfortable, it was impossible not to drift off. 

He thought that he might have woken up at one point, not to loud noises or a crick in his neck, but rather to gentle hands carding through his hair, coaxing knots apart and smoothing back errant locks that threatened to fall across his face.

He couldn't keep his eyes open long enough, couldn't pull himself out of the haze of sleepiness to fully figure out if he dreamt it or not.

 

When he next woke, the movie was finished and it was well past midnight. He stumbled upright, rubbing a hand down his face as he glanced around the room.

Bilbo was asleep, head tilted to the side. He couldn't possibly be comfortable, but he looked content. Thorin's heart undeniably fluttered. 

It was too late to send him home, and they were both too tired to drive. It wasn't like they hadn't slept at each other's house before, but not like this. They usually planned it, when they were awake no less. 

Still, he wasn't going to let Bilbo sleep sitting up on his couch. He knew from first hand experience that it wasn't all that comfortable, so he gently shook Bilbo awake.

"Bilbo." He murmurs. "Want to sleep here tonight?"

Bilbo mumbles something unintelligible, and struggles to wake up.

Thorin, unable to help himself, smooths a comforting hand down Bilbo's arm. "Stay here tonight." He says. "I'll drive you home in the morning."

Bilbo nods, and allows Thorin to prod him into standing. Thorin's room was just down the hallway, and took a bit of sleepy shuffling, but eventually he managed to get Bilbo in through the doorway. 

"Change into these." Thorin says, handing Bilbo his spare pyjamas. "Then get into bed."

Thankfully, Bilbo was sleepy enough to comply, and eventually they both ended up under the covers without another word. Thorin knew that if Bilbo was awake he would have never done anything like this, but it didn't matter. 

The bed was comfortable and they were both tired enough to fall asleep straight away.

 

The morning sunshine falling in through the open curtains woke Thorin.

Bilbo was tucked into his arms, hair mussed and face lax with sleep as he huffed quiet breaths against Thorin's neck. Thorin felt his heart race, half-heartedly wondering _how did this happen?_ Bilbo was even in his clothes! The shirt was too big for him, better sized for Thorin's broader back, and was slipping off the rounded curve of Bilbo's shoulder to expose his pale skin.

Thorin tried not to stare, and in his attempts only stared harder.

Gently, he lifted a hand from where it was resting on Bilbo's chubby waist to trace his fingertips down Bilbo's cheek. Bilbo didn't wake, so Thorin continued, learning the shapes of Bilbo's cheeks and his little button nose and his chin. He even rubbed his thumb across the shell of Bilbo's ear, and smiled at the shiver that ran down Bilbo's spine.

_Huh, his ears are sensitive..._

He tucked that little piece of information away for later, and went back to staring. 

_I don't want to let him go..._

What if Bilbo truly didn't like him this way? He didn't think he could bare it. He would miss Bilbo's company, even if it were to remain platonic. He loved having Bilbo in his life, loved spending time with him.

_God, I don't want to lose him._

He hoped that Bilbo didn't wake up for a little longer, just so that he could absorb it all. This was all he had ever wanted - he wanted to be _close_ with Bilbo, close physically and emotionally and any other way he could be.

_He's so beautiful..._

The most beautiful person Thorin had ever seen, chubbiness and all. He hoped Bilbo would see that one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Lovely_Willow! ^^ I'm glad you got back to me, your prompt is probably one of my favourites! Chubby Bilbo is my favourite thing, only second to Omega Bilbo ^///w///^
> 
> I hope you have a nice birthday! <3
> 
> -
> 
> Thanks for another month, this one really went by fast owo 
> 
> My HSC exams start mid-October, I believe, but they're pretty spaced out so hopefully I can maintain fairly regular lengths and quality for these every day~ I should know if I made it into university before they start, and if not I've already submitted my first-round offers for other universities, so hopefully I'll know whether I have a guaranteed place before the exams start just to ease off the pressure a bit~
> 
> Also, I just want to thank everyone for the support about my interview! I was really nervous, but I think I did well~ The lecturer I spoke to was actually the one I'd listened to on the Open Day, so he was glad I remembered him~ He seemed really impressed by this writing challenge too (which is helpful considering the course I applied for, haha~) Your support really means a lot! 
> 
> See you next month ^///w///^


End file.
